zero-sum game
by owlady
Summary: Lance isn't sure what the galra want from him. Maybe he's bait, maybe he's a prisoner. But he's still alive. Lance is the blue paladin. It isn't until he looks into a mirror and sees one of them looking back that he realizes he's probably an example. Rated T for violence/occasional language.
1. Trouble

zero-sum game

* * *

The whole place smells like ozone. The light is an ugly tesla-coil purple, nothing like the comforting soft white of the castle. And the floor is icy cold. Lance can feel that through his armored knees. To top it all off, there's a trigger-happy galra behind him with a laser gun, two 'druids' on either side, and a hooded alien who's probably a galra directly in front of him.

"We wanted the red lion," the alien draws out in a sandpaper rasp. "But Zarkon only demands Voltron's components, regardless of color. I suppose in this way, you're fortunate. Because the blue lion does nothing without a pilot, and we currently require the blue lion."

Lance is getting really sick of people saying Keith is better than him. He's also not too fond about getting shot down and captured by a rank assembly of angry lavender cat aliens, but his sense of pride means that he's sick of the first one more. Besides, he's not planning on making this a habit. Lance just can't move because he's handcuffed and more than a little bruised up. Stupid crash landing. Lance could've done it easy if they hadn't been right up Blue's tail.

Soft hands, with pads on the undersides. Leather-hard palms and fingertips. Nails ending in deadly points in an ironic shade of lavender. Seriously, what kind of alien was purple?

"We can see into you." Really tired of the whispers, here. Overdone. Really, really overdone, the creepy scratching voice. The hands that drift over his face, claws that graze his cheeks when he thinks they'll let him relax. His heart doesn't slow. "And yes, we see your home. We see your family, the furless bipeds you miss so much. Like our champion. We saw his family, and we tore it from him. We rent from him his arm, his memory, his safety."

Hot air, next to his ear. "We know you. And we can take more from you than we did from him. You are a magical sum, blue paladin. We understand what you need. What you want. And we can take it without ever overreaching you."

His heart thrums. Whirs. Skips and stutters like a bad radio signal.

"Or we can make you nothing," the alien continues, tilting his face. Talons prick him. Tiny beads of blood, barely there. "Give up your lion, and we'll allow you to give up your life without suffering. This, Zarkon offers. It is a sign of his respect to the chosen of Voltron."

The alien waits, eyes hidden in the folds of the hood of her cloak. Yellow like a disease. Headlights in the dark.

Cough. Cough. "I..."

Druids lean in, the one hanging over him with a carefully neutral face.

"'m no red lion," he replies, his neck turning too slowly. He smirks. "Don't think your little speech would've worked on him, either."

The claws are back. Ooh. That smarts.

"Not on green or yellow," he mutters. "Black got away from you. Looks like..."

Blood isn't fun. And it hurts, but hey, he's been hit by Allura's training dummy and shot at and he can probably handle this. "...humans are made of stronger stuff than you think."

Blue's somewhere on this ship, he thinks. She has to be. If they're trying to get him to back off so they can pilot the lion, he has to be near her. And somehow, he'll get out. Shiro did it, once.

"Humans," the voice repeats, and seriously he is TIRED of having people put their lips right next to his ear. "Humans. Believe me, blue paladin. Your leader was a fluke."

He shrugs one shoulder, and it hurts because his wrists are pretty solidly attached to the aliens' creepy science table. "Whatever you say, galra. I know I'm right."

The alien tenses up with irritation and Lance wants to laugh because hey, that happens when he says that at home, too.


	2. Sorry

Lance passed out sometime after that, more because he was tired than that they were actually doing anything to him. Sure, that one galra was all, 'Rescind your lion' again, and Lance was all 'Ha, no', and then there was some more claws and maybe something with a space-taser, but he got through it. But they took his armor. That really stung, for some reason.

Probably the space-taser burns.

But other than that, they didn't really do much. As far as Lance can tell.

His muscles ache now and his chest hurts like Hunk landed on him, but there's no new punctures. It's not even very dark in Creepy Galra Science HQ. The starlight creeps in through the far wide window, and literally all of the buttons and screens in the room glow and blink light. Right now, all that's bothering Lance is that he actually got himself captured and that being captured is some awful combination of guilt-wracking and really, really boring.

And his heart is still beating weird. It was calm when he woke up and now it's speeding up like he's getting ready to run. He's chained to a table. There's not much he can do right now, he thinks, unless his paladin under-armor has a space-laser hidden in it.

...that's actually a really good idea. Maybe when he gets back to the castle he can have Pidge whip something up. She'd probably love to load all of them up with hidden laser-weapons. Inventing is both Pidge's hobby and passion.

Wow. It's only been what, six hours? And already Lance is seriously missing Hunk and Pidge. And Allura and Shiro. Keith's a bit of a stretch, but he's a part of Team Voltron. Heck, Lance finds himself missing Coran of all people, too. Smashing. Lance has a big, soft, blue paladin heart.

His mom always said that was a good thing, and his dad agreed. His younger siblings weren't against using his squishy heart to get piggy-back rides, so they liked it too. But right now, when his whole body aches and he's trying to joke to himself that it doesn't matter or hurt and he'll be out of this lame ship in a second it doesn't help to also be hurting _emotionally_.

Ugh.

Has it even only been six hours? Lance doesn't have his own helmet or an accurate sense of passing time. All he knows is that it feels like it's been a while and nobody's around for now. Do galra even sleep? They're weird purple bat-cat-people. Maybe they're nocturnal. Opposite of Lance. Lance is a guy who sleeps all night and wakes up looking perfectly on-point at seven in the morning. He's gotta get his hours. Anything less is both really bad for his skin and his attitude.

Not that his skin-care regimen'll do him much good here. He can't even move his arms or wash his face. The least he can do is get some more sleep. And Lance doesn't feel like doing that, because his breath's a little too shallow and his lungs hurt and ha, there he goes, clenching his teeth and his hands. Breathe, Lance. Team Voltron's looking for you.

There's a snort, and Lance stiffens like a dead man, his pupils shrinking into pinpoints.

"Your mind is full of nonsense, paladin. Vain nonsense," Someone snorts at him, amused. "How did the subject trick the blue lion?"

Lance's head whips back and forth as he tries to find the voice. He only succeeds in jostling something wound into his ear that he didn't notice earlier. It's like an earbud, but it's taped into place. How didn't he feel that when he first woke up?

"Regardless of the subject's place in Voltron, the subject being prepared for the first of several trials in a new field of research," the voice continues bluntly, almost inside his skull instead of pressed up against his eardrum. "As such, the subject's nervous system has been mildly numbed as your burns are healed by sorcery. It is a momentary mercy that will not be granted again."

Lance blinks, only now realizing that his skin is mostly numb and his pain is deep-set.

"We simply cannot have our baseline sample affected by an offended druid's revenge." This smarmy jerk, Lance thinks. He thinks it loud and hard even as he tries to shrug this whole thing off of his metaphorical shoulders. "Although I would enjoy collecting more data on 'human' physiology's natural rate of healing. As it is, the subject's body is reacting to our anaesthetics as a contagion rather than a boon."

Great. Not only is he awake and in pain, he's allergic to whatever they're trying to inject him with. Funny joke.

"Yeah, sure. You know, most doctors just ask questions," Lance rolls his eyes. "But aliens gotta make it weird. Why do you have to make it weird?"

He doesn't get a response.

"Were you bit by a human as a kid?"

Man, Lance hates being ignored. But he technically got the last word, so for now it's okay. It's not like anyone's in the room with him. The only one talking to him is some dumb microphone taped to the ring of his ear. Lance takes a deep breath and gets ready to count the blinky lights he can see without moving his head. That should stop him from being bored, at the very least.

"114," the voice burbles into his ear, smug. Did he say the counting thing out loud?

"Quiznak!"


	3. Operation

Lance wakes up the next time completely numb.

He knows this for sure because the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is a huge damn needle sticking halfway into the fleshy part of his arm, his underarmor's sleeve rolled up in a disturbingly familiar manner. Come on, he thinks. Lance hated shots when human doctors gave them, and now he's stuck with this. I'm gonna have nightmares about this, Lance rolls his eyes. The worst part of that thought is that it could be true. Hurry up, Team Voltron.

He's still got utmost faith that they'll come get him. That's what Voltron paladins do- they take care of each other because otherwise there's no Voltron. If there's no Voltron, the galra take over the universe. That's the formula. If it were anybody else, Lance would be there in a heartbeat, he knows. Bleh, Lance swallows. Even his mouth is numb. It tastes awful. Like old cotton.

The lights suddenly come on, as if cued to do so. It's like some big, formless entity is watching, waiting for just the right moment to drop more bad news right on Lance's face no matter what he does. He screws up his face, eyes shut tight. Lance's pupils don't hurt. The painkiller is making everything in his head fuzz unpleasantly. A shadow drapes over him, and suddenly there's a painless tug on his arm and a gross sounding 'shluk'. Lance cracks an eye. His vision is wavering, but he can see that the needle that was in his arm is no longer in his arm.

Oh, that's not good. Not comforting. Rapid-fire worried spanish fills his mind, but out loud, all he says is "Huh."

Or Lance tries to. His tongue is not being useful. The galra have managed the impossible, Lance thinks, his heartrate climbing again. They've actually gotten him to shut up against his will.

Come on, Hunk. Pidge. Shiro. Heck, Lance'll even take Keith at this point, he just mentally begs for his teammates to come crashing through the wall with their lions to save the day before this horror show goes from bad to worse.

"Your 'team' is not even in this quadrant of space."

Lance keeps talking out loud. That's gotta be it. He keeps blabbing all the stuff he's thinking because he's stressed and Lance 'uses humor as a defense mechanism'. Thanks, cousin Linda, for your psychoanalyst opinion.

"They're at the other end of the galaxy, chasing after your lion. After all, it's the only thing about you of importance. But at the end of the fulltick, the blue lion will become Zarkon's."

No. Not Blue. Even if Team Voltron doesn't come for Lance, they'll find Blue and keep her safe. Besides, why should he even believe some freakshow british-alien voice he can't even see? Right. He shouldn't. They're just trying to freak him out- ow!

Lance hisses in pain. His body is flooding with phantom sensation that's getting stronger as the minutes tick on by. The only thing he can think of is that it feels like pins and needles but working from the inside to get out of him. He groans because even his teeth begin to ache and it hurts. Hurts in a long-term way.

"For the glory of the Galra empire. Vrepit Sa," says the voice in his ear, sounding completely bored. Like he couldn't give a care about anything that's really important, like keeping the galaxy and the Earth safe. He doesn't even sound offended, like that alien witch who hit him with a magical space-taser. "Checking neural function."

"Agh!"

"Neural function confirmed. Checking muscular function."

The table lights up with flashes, little shocks. Like getting a patdown by a hundred people who skidded across a shag rug in their socks. It hurts Lance way more than his mental image describes to himself. His arms and back and legs all spasm and oh, wow. The space-taser was bad but this is a pretty close second.

"Muscular function confirmed." Lance breathes, his exhale a whistle of air between his teeth.

"This how galra spend Saturday nights?" Lance asks, his frame taut. For once, nobody talks back to him. The little thing taped to his ear is quiet.

"Exposing alien physiology for the initial ritual marking. Records will show that the subject continues to attempt to agitate. I'd advise simply ignoring the effort."

"Love you too, man." He doesn't. Ow. Lance shouldn't make himself laugh. But if he doesn't laugh he's going to scream because with one little sweep of a pair of something that looks like scissors and a soldering iron had an ugly baby his upper underarmor is completely gone. The air is uncomfortably cool. Reminds him of middle school, dissecting frogs in icy cool formaldehyde. Only this time, he's the frog and he really doubts that Mrs. Goldenmeyer will let him ditch class to worship the porcelain throne after he's done with it.

Biology was never going to be his thing. Lance was just born to fly like some people are born fighting. Right now, every instinct he has is saying 'fight hard enough to get away and get the Blue Lion'.

Too bad, instincts. Right now Lance is latched to a table with no shirt and a science creep talking right in his head.

"Applying initial marks." Lance can see it. Whoever's doing this. It's not the same person who's talking to him, because the druid whose hand is hovering over Lance's shoulders with a pen isn't speaking at all. Lance can't tell aliens apart usually, but this one has a helpful scar over its left eye. The pen dips and digs and Lance yelps because in in a few short swipes he's got something written into his shoulder. It's just there.

Someone approaches on the other side. Dig, dig, dig. There's another mark on his opposite shoulder. Lance babbles something about tattoos going out of style, feels the ugly panic he's been trying to ignore bubble up out of him. The druids say nothing. The druids ignore him. Lance talks more, because he's always been a talker and Team Voltron, get him out of here! Save Blue and then get Lance because he really isn't good with alien space-magic! Lance grits his teeth and breathes through his nose, because the pen descends again on the middle of his collarbone and this mark takes much, much longer.

He squirms and fights and pulls against the table, but the druid keeps marking like he's still as a stone.

Finally, the pen lifts. Lance is still running scared, his bravado defensive and his teeth gritted. He looks down and feels some of the food goo he had for breakfast threaten to come back up. Cold sweat slips down his neck.

Circles. Weird alien writing in letters with strange edges. And right there, centered perfectly on his collarbone is the symbol they see on all galra ships.

"...you guys are pretty twisted," Lance rasps, because whoops. He hadn't been talking earlier. He'd been screaming and yelling and his throat is paying him back for it. "But you're still not getting Blue."

Lance is adamant about that. Even if he's absolutely terrified.

The druids with the laser pens part like curtains, and that other druid-alien, the old woman. She's here now. Standing right there. Lance doesn't see any weapons, but he's not relieved. Not at all. He wishes for Shiro because the last time any of them faced this witch Shiro was the one who stood a chance with his cyborg hand. At the same time, Lance is glad none of his teammates are here. Better him than them.

The witch raises her gnarled, clawed hand.

"Nice place," Lance tells her, sounding weak even to himself. "The crazy magic sidekicks come free with-"

"Beginning initial diffusion of quintessence." Little ear voice. It's back.

The druid's claws flash in the fluorescent light and the next second they're digging into the symbol on his chest. Lance gasps like a fish on dry land. Her claws are long and there's something wrong with everything in the world. His bones heat. His shoulders scorch.

And Lance screams for the blue lion to save him.


	4. Risk

Agh. Agh. Agh.

Lance comes back to himself and immediately regrets it. So much regret. Hurts. Ow.

The marks are the worst. They sting like oil burns and itch besides. And possibly the worst thing about them is that they are not the color of his skin anymore.

They're glowing. Very, very faintly. A gross purple color, like the lights and the crystal that probably powers this giant ship-thing. He can see spindly branching veins the same color if he strains his eyes. And once again, Lance is full of this kind of intense anxiety. His heart feels like someone is holding it in their hand just a bit too tightly. He forces himself to breathe out and then hisses when one of his hands automatically probes the hurt.

...wait.

His hands aren't tied down?

Lance's eyes bug out and he stares, holding them up. Then he checks his legs and what he's lying on and yes, Lance was moved. He's not on a creepy table. He's on a very uncomfortable floor in a room that's shaped like a rhombus instead of a rectangle. The door lies in wait, its frame lined in soft red LED lights. There's no bars or lock. Lance can see down the hallway.

Glee fills his chest. Before he investigates, Lance takes personal inventory. He has... himself. No armor. No bayard, but he knew that. They took it as soon as he got captured. His upper underarmor is gone, but he's got pants and shoes. They went through his pockets, though. Lance absently wonders if the galra are ever not total creeps, and then decides, no. They're all pretty damn creepy.

And dumb, if they just left an open door for him.

Lance isn't an idiot. He might make dumb decisions for less-than-stellar reasons, but he's pretty smart besides that. He's got good instincts. There's probably something wrong with that door, or with him. That's the only reason he'd leave a door open like that around an enemy.

Feeling around his ear, Lance takes care of a second matter of business and pulls out the little microphone, the tape catching on his hair as he does so. It stings, but he is so done with eerie science whispering. The thing crunches under his foot after he throws it to the ground and steps down. It's pretty satisfying.

"Subject has broken the neural monitor. Replacements will be needed in the future." Lance lets out a sound that's not a yelp. It is a manly exclamation of worry. "Heightened baseline quintessence levels steady. Comparing previous subjects, I hypothesize-" The feed cuts out. No spitting static, just silence. Like someone turned it off. Lance groans, because he realizes he's being watched and that the sound is coming straight from the walls. Lance can't stomp on the walls. The little bit of joy he got from crushing the doodad wilts in him.

"Great," he mutters, pulling himself up with the wall. "Fantastic." His legs shake. Lance shrugs out his shoulders. He finds himself saying words that he wouldn't want his younger siblings to repeat when he automatically rubs his wounds. Dumb move, because it just makes them itch and burn more. He's kind of glad he doesn't have a shirt, because the sticking fabric would probably hurt way worse than the cover would be worth.

One step after the other, Lance makes his way across the cell and braces himself. He looks more closely at the doorframe. It's studded with those little lights, but it's also riddled with tiny, uniform holes. Like a sprinkler.

Lance can't hear any galra. It's dead silent except for the quiet hum of machinery and the buzz of the lights.

There has to be something wrong with the door. But on the slim chance that there isn't, and that the galra are just that dumb... Lance has to try and make a break for it. He's not sticking around for more needles or space-magic.

He stretches slightly, and then bolts.

It's like hitting a wall of netting.

And, as with everything that Lance has come to expect from the galra, whatever he ran into is not cool. In the slightest. It doesn't even hurt, but that doesn't stop it from being awful. It's the opposite of what the lady with the claws tried. He's caught in a criss-cross of energy that saps everything from him. It's cold. So cold. It's not like ice, not like the blue lion. It feels like death. Lance isn't even making a sound beyond huffs and wheezes. He can't seem to get air into his lungs. There's no warmth, there's no anything. It throws him back and Lance hits the ground rolling like a ragdoll. His chest heaves and it still doesn't feel like he's breathing.

Madre de Dios, did the galra make a death door? A fake door that kills you?

"Subject reacts negatively to forceful removal of introduced quintessence. Subject's vital signs are falling steadily, similar to the effect of draining an organism's inborn quintessence."

"You suck," Lance tells the room, because it does. The marks hurt more now. Lance feels sluggish.

"It was your mistake," says the voice. It's bored.

Lance closes his eyes, just for a minute. And two minutes later, he finds that he just can't seem to open them. His mouth hangs open and breath whistles past his teeth. His inhale is shallow.

"Baseline quintessence needs to be reintroduced," the voice mutters, and then the feed disappears again.

Cold crawls along his shoulders.

* * *

AN: Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed! I'm glad you like it, and there's more coming for sure. I update once a day with short chapters. There's more story in the future!


	5. Clue

It's not the first time that happens. Because while he's not dumb, Lance is determined and that open door is just a taunt, hanging in front of him without actually having a door to keep him in. Over the next couple of days- or he thinks they're days, Lance's sense of time is officially shot- Lance experiments. Tries going through one body part at a time, tries slipping through, attempts to power past it. Every time it feels awful, but he thinks he's getting better at dealing with it. What doesn't kill Lance will help him get out of this cell.

No news about Voltron. Not unless Lance wanted to count the propaganda the scientist voice keeps telling him and the taunts from the witch every time she works her freaky space-magic.

They tape another microphone to the inside of his ear, and Lance gets round-the-clock galra science talk. Lance has no idea why they want him to know all this information. It's pretty useless for them, considering that it just helps Lance. He shrugs past it and keeps trying to get out, over and over again.

After the fourth day and the fifth attempt, he finds a tether around his leg.

After he tries to attack a druid, he gets a tether around his arms. Lance loses his arm privileges in a blaze of glory, though. He shoves straight up with the heel of his hand and breaks the druid's nose. Then he tries to steal the druid's gun, but surprise, surprise. Space-magicians don't carry guns. Just really big sticks.

They increase the amount of quintessence by the end of the maybe-week. The galra move like time's in short supply. So while Lance is in emergency mode, he's also hopeful. If the galra are worried, that means Voltron is after them. Voltron is still looking for him. It's a great feeling in the midst of a sea of bad ones.

The ache introduced with the first shot of quintessence just gets worse. Not like getting drained, no way. When they add more, it just burns all the time. The marks glow near the edges, and the veins are bigger than they used to be. His skin around them is purple like bruises.

Time slips in and out during the next 'week'. Lance isn't really coherent. And when he is, he's trying to attack the guards because he can just tell that Voltron is coming and coming soon. He's 'delusional'. The voice debates something called 'quintessence poisoning', and then dismisses it. Quintessence is life force. Despite the source of the quintessence used, it shouldn't negatively...

It always talks in his ear. After the third 'week' it's constant. Never learns his name. When Lance asks why his mouth hurts and his skin itches and his eyes aren't working right it doesn't respond, but when Lance actually sleeps it talks. For hours.

"Subject's DNA seems to be adapting to the quintessence used for infusion," it murmurs as he tries to drift off. It worries him a little, but not much because most of it sounds like gibberish. That's how out of it he is. "Subject's eyesight continues to degrade as physical mutations overtake the subject's ability to process the change."

Lance just whines and tries to bury his head under his arms. Too early. He needs his beauty sleep. Hasn't gotten any in a while.

When the voice finally shuts up, Lance sleeps for longer than he ever has before. He wakes up with his hands tied behind him, in a new cell. He's still in the science part of the ship. The druids are all around, like flies on a corpse. There's just a new addition to their ranks, and this guy isn't a druid at all. He's huge. Lance shifts his head and squints. Whatever the quintessence is doing to him, it's not helping his eyesight. Blurry. Purple. Really big. The shape looks at him for a moment.

He can't see the face. But somehow he gets that feeling- like he's being laughed at when he didn't make a joke. It's not good.

"What? Do I have food goo in my teeth?" Lance croaks. It's second nature for him to try to sass. Though with all of the quintessence stuff, maybe it's not the best idea. The figure just stares. Probably doesn't even know what food goo is. All Lance has gotten to eat are weird sponge tablets.

Man, that look makes Lance's skin crawl. It's already itchy enough because of the quintessence quiznak. Can't he catch a break? He bites the inside of his cheek and squints.

The figure turns and walks away without a word.

Lance lets out a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding. His body untenses and Lance lets his eyes fall shut. "Tough crowd."

"Emperor Zarkon is to be respected," the voice says quietly in his ear. Lance snorts. "As are his officers. Vrepit Sa."

"Which one was that?" Lance shifts his shoulders, his cheek resting against one. His torso is mottled with purple. That's probably bad. "Officer or King Fuzz-monster?"

The voice goes quiet.

And then it starts repeating itself. Over and over. The same thing. Wow, that's annoying.

It keeps that up for a while.

The old lady druid, the angry one with the screeching voice, she comes in. Lance asks cheerfully if she can get lost. The old lady gets angrier. Long story short, she doesn't get lost. She gets even and pulls some even worse magic out of her cape. By the time she leaves, Lance's purpled skin spot is almost covering his torso. He doesn't get why she has no sense of humor. She's not even the one being tor-

Lance abruptly ends his line of thought. He's just stuck. With the galra. Lance is a paladin, and he can handle this. His friends are fine, and they're looking for him.

"The paladins of Voltron are in the wrong spacial hemisphere. The subject is completely isolated." Shut up, ear voice. Boo, you jerk. "Subject resorts to delusions of rescue to cope with the imbalance caused by the oversaturation of galran quintessence."

"Delusions," he scoffs. They're not delusions. They're going to come.

When they walk him back to his cell, the first thing he does afterwards is get rid of the bug in his ear. He really doesn't want to hear anything evil-brit-alien has to say to him.

And that's the perfect, amazing moment that the speakers in the walls come on and the quiznakking alien keeps going on and on and on.

* * *

AN: One of you guys caught on to a little trend I have with naming my chapters. Nice job! And thank you to all my usual suspects and guests who keep giving me feedback. It's way appreciated.


	6. Uno

_Something is seriously wrong._

Understatement of the year, but right now Lance knows it for sure because he went to sleep with brownish hands and fingernails and he woke up with dark _purple_ hands and something sharp under his nails. They snagged on something, probably his hair as he slept and that's how he knows they're there. Lance is trying really hard not to freak out. He's very done with being trapped here. He's done with quintessence. He's done with Respecting The Galra Overlords, and he's done with being scared and making jokes like he's not. He's done. Stick a fork in him. Lance wants two days straight of sleep, a pile of tamales just for him, and his normal skin color back. Is that too much to ask?

At least his vision's back to normal.

The scientist starts murmuring more observations in his ear and this time gives him instructions. He's told to count to ten and then hold and release his breath. Standard calm-down routine. He almost gets freaked out again when he follows it and it works- he's not cooperating with galra. No way, no how.

"Breathe in. Breathe out. Elevated heart rate of the subject is lowering." What do they want? Why do they care? Is he a prisoner, like the guards at his door suggest? Is he an experiment, like the scientist in his ear keeps blabbing on about? Is he still the blue paladin, when he can't remember exactly how long he's been gone from Team Voltron and Blue is barely a whisper at the back of his mind?

He's still Lance. But he's been gone for a long time and growing double-nails is too much because he could be dying. Mutating.

The only consistent thought he has is 'I'm glad it's not anybody else.' Because Lance couldn't handle it, if Pidge or Hunk or Mullet-face or Shiro went through this. If they came back to Castle Altea and their first thought when someone said 'galra' was 'Vrepit Sa' because someone keeps saying it over and over again like a demented song.

The scientist talks too much. All the time. And there's nobody else to talk to. Like a reflex, he associates words together because the scientist keeps talking and doesn't listen to him at all. Lance is a talker. He talks. And nobody's talked to him in weeks except for a galra fanatic and a lot of magically inclined loyalists. ...Lance doesn't want to admit it, but his brain might be pretty messed up. He doesn't want to admit it, but he's anxious. Worried.

Really worried.

And they keep going. Galra don't stop. They keep going until there's nothing left and it burns. Lance just wants... he wants...

He wants home. And rain. And pizza and a million relatives asking 'How's life at the Garrison' and 'Cuándo vas a casa para las vacaciones?' But he can't have any of that because he's stuck, and the walls are too close and too dark and he can't get out!

Lance loses a tooth trying to chew his tethers off. It doesn't hurt- there's already another sharp, new one under it.

They sedate him and the whole time the voice in ear keeps talking about the subject, what the subject is doing wrong, how the subject is unstable and dangerous. Lance doesn't know when he started feeling hurt by the scientist's words. But right now, missing his tooth, Lance is hurting badly as he falls asleep.

He doesn't really dream. Lance just sleeps and feels like bugs are crawling over and under his skin. He thinks he sees faces, planets, pure comfort. But when he opens his eyes he's still in that cell, tethered to the wall. Lance is splayed like a starfish.

They throw in the nutrient sponge stuff. Lance tries to eat it, but it's tasteless and awful. His tongue hurts. His teeth hurt. What gets him to actually eat the thing is the voice in his ear saying more stuff about 'the subject'. Which is him. Lance is the subject. And he's tired of getting talked down. He just wants to be good, and that's hard to be here. It's hard to be good.

They take him down to the room again. Because even if the science is killing him, the freaky magicians aren't going to change their minds until Lance is definitely dead or Voltron comes tearing through the side of the ship. Which it can't. No blue lion means no Voltron.

It doesn't mean that the lions can't come tearing through the side of the ship. Lance just thinks it makes his rescue a little more complicated than it should be.

Everything's too complicated. Lance finds himself talking to the scientist. Asking about Voltron. Galra stuff. The scientist doesn't tell him much. The guy's snooty. Pidge-levels of smart, but snooty. Opposite of Hunk. It takes effort to get the guy to call him something other than 'subject'.

'Blue Paladin' isn't exactly 'Lance' levels of name, but it'll do in a pinch. It makes him feel like less of a freak when he gets hit with sickly purple quintessence and it doesn't ache.

* * *

AN: Posting this a little early because today's busy. It's good to hear that everyone likes how the story's developing! Thank you to all my fantastic reviewers- don't worry if the angst is breaking your heart now. I promise that rescue is coming eventually, and then the fun of putting the team and its members back together so they can heal will begin.


	7. Scrabble

Turns out that his teeth weren't the only things hiding sharp replacements. His old fingernails shed off like snake scales in a day and reveal new growth.

"Blue Paladin continues to observe changes to claw-beds and dentae. Reaction is mixed, but overall negative. Hypothesis 33-B has proven correct. Exposure to amplified alien quintessence's effects have been logged. Good newtick, Blue Paladin."

Claws. That's a real kicker. He's got purple claws. Just looking at them reminds Lance of his capture, of sharp points on his cheeks and him, just joking around like he always does. He's proud of his past self, wants to give him a high five. But he also wants to put his hands into his pockets and never look at them again. There's a thin sheen of velvet hair over his fingers, his hands. It gets thicker at the wrist, but it's all baby-soft and new.

Lance is covered in fur. It's coming in fast and they're giving him new nutrient sponges more often to keep 'Blue Paladin's nutritional levels stabilized'. "Uh, hey. Same to you?"

They don't let him have mirrors, which is probably good for his health. He'd hate to see his skin after all this. His regimen is totally ruined. It's odd to worry about pimples from poor nutrition and hygiene right now, but it's what Lance has left and he's sticking to it.

He sections off the ugly cresting wave of realization that's been building up in his head for a week. Says 'Nope, not today, can't afford this, bro'. He ignores it. Lance can take in the claws and the fur and the twitching on either side of his head and be completely fine with not connecting any of the dots.

"Not particularly," the alien drones. Lance runs his new claws through his hair and his fur alike, trying to comb it out. It's tangled up, but with sweat. It's actually really gross. "My request for new materials has been denied again. Blue Paladin has begun ritual self-grooming."

"Whoa, whoa, don't do that. It's weird when you switch modes like that." Lance keeps 'grooming'. It itches and feels gross when he stops. "Pal, you've got a lot to learn about friendly conversation."

Lance's last quintessence exposure was a long time ago. At least three or four of Science-guy's 'Good newticks'. The galra, in a contradiction of form, are letting him sleep it off and Lance has no clue why. He's still got guards. Science-guy still takes readings. Blue is completely silent in his head.

That last part is terrifying, but Lance figures it's because his lion's as far away as the galra could get it. Maybe. Lance has no idea how the galra even work anymore.

"I'm not paid for 'friendly conversation'. Blue Paladin, today you will be subjected to a physical test and a psych test. Failure to comply with either will result in discouragement." No quintessence. Are they done with quintessence? Is that old witch druid completely out of the picture? Lance could cry.

"Yeah, sure. Pull the other one, it'll pop right off." The joke makes the scientist scoff at him.

"Authorizing door release for Blue Paladin."

The lights turn up and Lance hisses, nicking his lip with his teeth. It always stings when they flick on the lights like that. A guard comes in and unhooks Lance's tether from the wall.

He's walked down the hallway. And boy, is it a long hallway. Studded with lights and signs that he can't read, too. The guard behind him jabs his back when he slows down too much. When they finally get to the room he's dragged to, his jaw tightens.

Lance McClain stands before someone he's never seen before. But judging by the throne and the ton of armor he's wearing, it's not hard to guess. This is the guy who tried to take the Black Lion. The one who's fixated on conquering the universe and stealing Voltron for good. This is the big Kahuna, and he's seriously big. He's Galra, but he dwarfs Lance's piddly guard, not to mention Lance himself. The guy radiates bad times and no sunshine.

And in each hand he holds a Paladin's bayard. The blue in his left, the black in his right.

Lance looks straight at him. But the emperor looks through Lance. Because to him, Lance is a piece on the board. Emperor Zarkon does not see anyone, let alone Lance, as his equal. An ugly smile flickers across the galra's scarred face.

Lance's bayard hits Lance in the chest with a muffled sound.

And Lance stands there, all six feet of his furry purple glory. Clutching a blue bayard against a chest that's been scrawled over by the Galra. Lance feels like his life has been scrawled over by the Galra. He doesn't even blink. There's something in the air that's paralyzing. The link in his ear comes to life: "Blue Paladin appears non-responsive when confronted with the opportunity to-"

But Lance isn't listening, because he's summoned his weapon and trained it on the sick alien that ordered him captured in the first place. He squeezes off a shot, his teeth gritted together, his eyesight blurring. Then his guard barely twitches his arm and the alien's stick crashes against him. He's disarmed in a heartbeat, another tether effectively handcuffing him. Blood soaks through Lance's purple-brown fur, giving him a crimson streak.

Zarkon doesn't blink. He hasn't moved, not even when he was shot at.

There's no threat to him, here. And Lance feels helpless.

They drag Lance from the throne room. He doesn't see what happens next as Zarkon turns to the old druid alien witch with issues. They begin to talk about bait, traps, and the empire's experimental galra.


	8. Battleship

They toss Lance into a steel room and give him back his bayard. Then they seal the doors and Lance makes a connection between the alteans and the galrans; despite being thousands of years apart by now, both societies have holo-training rooms. The galran sentinels don't look like the altean gladiator, which is a let-down. They're shorter and skinnier. Just about Lance's size, actually.

When they materialize weapons- a sword, a grapple, an over-the-shoulder cannon, Lance figures out that they aren't sentinels. They're paladins. Galra train themselves by hitting high-tech sandbags with paladin faces on them. Hyper-advanced alien race, Lance's recently-furry butt. They're even the right colors, too. Tiny green one, big yellow one, skinny red one.

"Remove the obstacles."

Now the scientist voice is giving instructions. Great. "I dunno. They didn't do anything to me." Lance is aggressively nonchalant.

"Remove the obstacles, or they will remove you."

There's a series of beeps, like on the pacer test at the Garrison. Lance always knew those things were evil. Running shouldn't be used for torturous gym practices.

Then the green robot launches itself forward, incredibly fast. Lance whirls around, his balance shot even as his bayard takes form on reflex. Lance is being attacked and he needs a weapon, Lance's instincts say. It's just a robot, his brain says. It looks like Pidge in full armor, his squishy heart says, overpowering both. Lance doesn't want to fire at it in the slightest, but it's ducking around and under and over and if he's not careful the edge of that grapple will space-taser him to heck and back.

The other two paladin-bots wait their turns. "This is a test of physical fitness," says the scientist in his ear. Of course they wouldn't up the level immediately. Like the pacer test, it'll probably ramp up by degrees. Terrible, annoying degrees.

Pidgebot nicks him. The fur on his arms stands up from the slight shock. He shoves the robot away with the barrel of his weapon, but it doesn't fall. Pidgebot tucks and rolls, landing in a crouch. Then Pidgebot resumes attacking him. Jab, jab, jab. Lance holds up his bayard like a shield, the grapple scratching against the casing. He backs off, circling around. The robot follows him.

"Shoot."

Lance doesn't shoot. He starts thinking about how to get close enough to hit the robot. That way, he's not shooting something that looks like Pidge. He's just knocking it out. Temporary. Okay.

"Shoot."

Not shooting. He can't seem to bob and weave fast enough to get close to the Pidgebot. It's like it's catching on to what he's trying to do. Pidge is already slippery enough on her own, but they copied her moves and put them into a robot that doesn't care who Lance even is. He's fighting a relentless green computer. Not Pidge. Computer.

"Shoot."

Won't. Pidgebot lashes out, somehow having gotten right under Lance's nose. The bot's fake bayard sure feels like the real one- with the added bonus of making Lance smell like a burnt bag of hair, now. That's great. The sound he lets out sounds like a cross between a yelp and a wounded cat.

But at least now he's got an opening.

His chest hurts and so do his arms, but Pidgebot doesn't dart back out like Pidge would. Pidgebot just stays there, readying another charge with the grapple and Lance pounces on that opportunity.

Ha, pounces. Good lion pun. Lance'll have to remember that one when he gets back to the castle. Which he will.

Lance swings his gun down, whapping the Pidgebot over the back of the head. It drops its weapon and collapses to the ground in a jumble of metal parts, not like a person. Immediately Lance ducks down, because he has to grab the fake-bayard before Pidgebot gets up and shocks him again. His fingers barely trace the edge of the weapon until another shot forces him back. Lance looks up.

The Hunkbot didn't move a muscle except to fire at him. Lance backs off, but not before he kicks the fake bayard away from the Pidgebot.

Better safe than sorry, even if the robot is down for the count right now.

"Shoot."

"That your word for the day?" He asks aloud, gripping his gun like a security blanket. His claws dig into the rubber handles. Lance doesn't want to do this, not now. He can hear more than he used to- his breath in his ears, his own heartbeat, the whir of robotic servos and the soulless buzz of the lights. His eyes are too sensitive, like everything's just brighter than it should be. And there's this feeling like he can't hold still- all of the paladin robots are moving. He has to catch one. It's important.

Maybe he can get another weapon, he explains to himself. Something useful.

Mulletbot takes steps forward, sweeping down with its sword. Hunkbot takes steps back, lifting its gun. Lance thinks that this is the next degree up; it's a long-range fighter and a short range fighter at the same time. He can't afford to take another hit, not after getting shocked by the Pidgebot. Lance doesn't have any armor. All he has is himself and his bayard.

The two robots circle, like they're drawing the whole thing out to see Lance squirm. Lance tries to keep calm, turn slowly, but he can't resist whipping his head around to check whenever one of them leaves his sight.

"For the glory of the galran empire," the scientist in his ear swears. "Simply listen!"

Why is he getting help?

Lance still takes the advice. He stops whipping his head around and stares at the Hunkbot, eyes trained on the barrel of its underarm cannon. Behind him, Lance can clearly hear the footsteps of the Mulletbot. It's hard to keep up this combination, but Lance can do it. It's just like rubbing his head and patting his stomach at the same time. While trying not to get shot.

Lance needs to work on his metaphors. They're a lot worse than his jokes.

"Uh, thanks," he mutters. The scientist scoffs. Lance figures by now the scientist has earned a nickname and mentally calls him 'Scoffy'.

Behind him, Lance's focus on the Hunk robot is broken by the sudden influx of sharp footsteps he can hear like they're right next to him. Lance pivots around, gun ready to catch a sword against it...

And then he finds Mulletbot a foot away, the sword half an inch from his nose but not moving any closer. Lance's blink is comical. And for a split second he just stares at the potential death hanging in the air, not moving. When the blade lowers and Mulletbot moves to the side, Lance just squints. What the quizna-

He forgets the advice he was just given maybe two minutes ago: to listen.

There's a hiss and an ugly hum before plasma shrieks through the air. Lance is thrown by the bolt hitting him dead-center in the back. He hits the wall and tumbles back with the recoil, his bayard skittering across the stone floor until it's just out of reach. Mulletbot mirrors what he did earlier and collects the blue bayard, sword held defensively. Hunkbot's gun is still wafting clouds of vapor from the heat of his charged shot.

"Blue Paladin has failed the Physical Combat Test at level 1," Scoffy notes for his log. "However, Blue Paladin seems generally fit despite poor attempts to defend against the training paladins. Quintessence is recorded as boosting the immune and healing processes. Injuries sustained include..."

Lance groans and lets his forehead hit the cold stone.

One of the injuries listed by the scientist is a 'mild concussion'. Apparently he cracked his head on the wall when he went flying. Lance isn't feeling that; he's tired. Tired, fuzzy, scared. Tired of being fuzzy and scared, ha, that's funny. That's really... funny...

His last thought before he sinks under is that he's glad he won't have to take another test today.

"Physical fitness conclusion: His emotions limit his potential. Blue Paladin is weak enough to for us to begin Lady Haggar's psychological spell with maximum effect."

* * *

AN: Lance isn't out of the woods yet. It's definitely coming though, believe me. Thank you for all your reviews! It's great to hear we're like-minded about angst and I love hearing your comments. The next chapter is a real emotional doozy, so... 'til next time!


	9. Connect Four

Lance doesn't end up having to take any more tests.

They make him live a test.

After he wakes up and they've given him some galra medicine that works scarily well, he's herded away from his cell.

He focuses on his ears and he hears an actual door hiss shut after they leave. This totally proves that they were taunting him, Lance thinks. He holds on to that petty thought even as his pulse doubles when they lead him down the same winding hallways past the same unintelligible signs. They skip the creepy throne room and go straight to the training center. Evil space witch is already there, waiting for them. Lance swears under his breath.

She has her clawed hands swept up into the sleeves of her robe, and that just raises Lance's hackles more than if she'd had them out on display. He wants to see because if he can see that means that he can defend. Lance has been up close with those claws, he knows what they do and he doesn't want _any_ chance that she could pull them out and hurt him again. Lance is sore and tired and scared of being hurt. It's been building up, this whole time. Lance has always been confident, assured; being scared like this all the time is just... wrong. It's not right.

Nothing about the galra is right.

Space witch doesn't waste time with pleasantries. Lance doesn't even get a chance to spit out a one-liner before she collects a ball of sickly yellow energy between her fingertips and she thrusts it into his forehead. It takes a second, but sinks in. Lance doesn't understand what's happening beyond 'I'm going to get hit' and he flinches. The enchantment feels like wire as it uncoils around his brain, and Lance is still dumbfounded even as he blinks and everything starts to look different to him. Sound different. Act... different?

Pidgebot has bright brown eyes behind that tinted visor, he sees now. There's no joints in the robot like there should be. Hunkbot's skin is an even shade of cocoa brown where he stands behind her, and Mulletbot now has a ridiculous haircut that sticks out even under a helmet.

"What?" Lance asks, looking at them. A minute ago, they were robots. Now he thinks... his head swims. They look like his team. Are they his team? Is his team here? The galra brought him into a room with his team, which doesn't add up. Lance looks between all of them, takes a step towards Hunkbot... Just Hunk. He pokes the other with one pointy finger. It feels like Hunk. Hunk looks at him like someone might look at a monkey at the zoo.

Hunk. Pidge. Even Keith. They're all here. They finally came for him. The lions have to be outside, he's got to get his teammates outside, Lance feels like he's going to vibrate out of his own skin. His teammates are here! This is them! He's so convinced that this is them!

Lance immediately rounds on the witch, because he's going to defend his teammates and they're getting out of here. They're leaving. "Don't attack, just run! We have to get to the lions!"

Keith looks at him like he's swallowed a bug. Pidge doesn't move a muscle. Hunk takes a step back.

"Come on!" He tries to grab Hunk's arm, but Keith is suddenly there, the tip of his dumb red sword between Lance and his best friend. "We have to go, this isn't funny." The witch isn't attacking. She's just looming dangerously behind him, causing all of the hair on Lance's hackles to rise in fear and ire. "...guys?"

Pidge assumes an offensive position. Keith continues to defend. Hunk looks at him like he's nuts. "We have to go get Blue," Lance says weakly, the witch behind him dimming in his awareness like a bad radio signal. His concern for his teammates is much stronger. "We need to form Voltron."

He keeps getting that look. Like he's not speaking english, like he's an alien, like they're expecting Lance to attack them at any moment. Lance wouldn't do that. He just has to get out of here. Has to get out of here with them, because if he's stuck any longer in these endless purple metal hallways he's going to break down. Lance is a paladin. Lance is a human. Lance doesn't know how long he's been here but he knows that _he can't keep 'handling' it_.

"Is he crazy?" Pidge mutters to Keith. Keith doesn't reply, because the mullethead is too busy looking like he ate bad food goo for lunch.

"I'm not crazy! We have to get Blue and form Voltron!"

"We don't form Voltron with Galra!" Keith swallows his look of disgust and barks at Lance. Lance's ears pin all the way down and back, which is weird. He tries not to think about his ears, because the quintessence stuff, it...

"I'm not galra," Lance protests weakly. "I'm... it's me, guys. The space witch, she took that quintessence whatever and it... I don't know. I'm human."

Keith swipes down with the sword. Lance barely dances away, and some of the fur from his arm flutters to the floor. "I'm human! I'm Lance!"

"Back off, Galra!" Keith swings again. Lance's sharp teeth clack together and he bites his tongue, tasting copper in his mouth.

He hits the wall. Slips. For some reason, the metal isn't matte anymore. It's insistently shiny, like the surface of a freshly polished mirror. The glint of something golden catches Lance's eye even as he dodges another swift sword attack, and he finds himself staring into the reflection he can now see.

Purple fur, mussed and matted with crusted blood and spit. Sharp teeth, like a vampire. Slightly narrow eyes, lit with a honey-colored glow. When he blinks, those eyes close. When his mouth hangs open, he can count the fangs in the reflected mouth. There's a pair of rather fluffy ears pressed to the back of the image's head. It takes a few seconds for everything to come together. He feels a lock on some dam he made in his head come off. He feels the floodgates shift slightly. A dribble of realization spews forth in his brain.

And then the sheer pressure of the freakout he's been putting off shoves its way through his mind and crashes down, sweeping him into falling to the ground. His knees buckle and his legs give out under him as he pushes himself back, scrambles to sit up. Lance's arms wrap around himself, his claws disappearing under his armpits as he sits on the floor and stares at nothing and everything.

There's a galra in that mirror. There's a galra that hasn't showered, who's been through hell and back, who's just realized what he is. There's a galra who calls himself Lance McClain.

He's an alien. He's... is he... He's got to be sleeping. Otherwise, Lance isn't human. He's not human anymore. Lance isn't-

The space witch stands off a short distance away, smiling. The paladin succumbs to her Mind's Glamour spell with even more ease than she suspects, and she gets a sick joy watching him has he stares at a reflective wall and talks to 'humans' he projects onto the Paladin training dummies. Lord Zarkon's method of acquiring the lions might actually be successful, if all of the paladins fall as easily as the trusting and loyal blue lion's.

The paladin robots are drawn back into the combat floor when it becomes clear that the Blue Paladin is completely under the thrall of Haggar's spell. Druid mind magics work best on Galra. It's truly remarkable luck that humans change so easily when saturated with quintessence imbued with the DNA of another race. Her initial goal when the tests began was just to see how quickly quintessence could be turned to kill. When it refused to kill, Haggar found how quickly quintessence could mould a creature for its own survival.

The Blue Lion is now completely unresponsive, where before it would shoot any galra who attempted to short-circuit its particle barrier. Haggar can only attribute that to the disconnect between paladin and Lion caused by the paladin's emotional weakness. The Mind Glamour has done its job.

"Bring the Paladin back to his cell. He's far too weak to be a threat. It's time to lure in the rest of the paladins. Soon, we secure Voltron."

Lance eventually sleeps, but that doesn't end his bad dream.

* * *

AN: So, if anyone hadn't guessed it... Galra!Lance AU. I couldn't find any, so I wrote one. With _angst!_ Yep. This was a fun chapter to write. Once again, thank you for your reviews! Let me know what you think- I love reading all of your reactions.


	10. Noughts and Crosses

"Please state your perceived condition, Blue Paladin."

The question throws him for a loop. Lance blinks and stops scratching his arm. How does he feel? He woke up a week ago. He's been pretty isolated, healing up.

"I don't know," he replies honestly, his ears flicking. "I... there was something important. I think I forgot. Es un dolor."

The world is wavy in his head. It shudders when he stops to remember.

"Maybe if I could see my lion, it'd be better. Blue helps me think."

The voice from the walls is quiet, for a while.

Something paws at him. He almost feels the sensation in his mind, gentle prods from something ancient. But it's weak, and Lance has to meet it halfway.

Lance worries his lip with a sharp tooth, trying to think and remember. For some reason, ever since a few days ago, his brain is cloudy. He can remember times that it wasn't, before that, but there's a lot of pain... and it takes effort. Like walking through maple syrup.

Has he been here before?

He woke up and there was a shirt in the cell. Lance put it on like a robot, barely able to go through the motions. There were gloves with thick fingertips, too, but Lance kept them in his pocket. They looked too small for him.

Lance doesn't have his bayard. This isn't a castle. Why is that wrong, why does everything feel wrong? What even is maple syrup? Lance doesn't know why he's thinking about it, because he's been eating nutrient sponge for weeks because he's been stuck in the Galran battleship!

...Lance is in the Galran Battleship. His eyes widen and he searches around him like a rat caught in a trap, some layer of ice he's had over his entire mind cracking into pieces. He feels a slight thrum in his mind before it quiets, like a lion's purr.

"Blue Paladin is experiencing a relapse. This is the third in seven newticks. Blue paladin will be processed to cold storage assuming the mental glamour continues to be ineffectual. Capturing the Voltron Lions remains priority, and as Voltron has still not taken the bait I recommend-"

Lance isn't having a relapse! He's finally remembering! Lance scrambles out of his chair and darts for the door, his claws skittering as he tries to get it open. It's a hydraulic door. There's no handle. Lance'll get it open anyway, because he can't forget again. No, he won't forget again. The door opens, and behind it is an armed guard. This one has a gun instead of a stick. Lance can work with that, he just has to leave and-

"Do not use lethal force to secure the Paladin until we can crack the Lion's barrier!"

The world shivers. He hears a shrill sound in the back of his ears.

The guard is Hunk, training a cannon on him.

No, it's not.

The guard is Pidge, grapple gleaming with electricity.

No way.

The guard is Keith, with his sword at the ready.

Lance lashes out, finds purchase on fur in the gaps of armor. He snatches the gun, even though what he sees is Shiro, hand glowing at Lance's neck. He swings his gun down and-

Stops.

Allura glares at him, some kind of elf war goddess.

"Back OFF!" He grunts, shoving the guard-who-is-not-Allura with the gun he's stolen. The guard hits the wall and slips down, and Lance can hear Allura in pain. It's not real. It's not real. It's not-

He's already running down the hallway. He pulls the gloves out of his pockets and tugs them on. They're too short, but shooting a gun barehanded messes with your hands. They click and his claws are hidden away.

"Blue Paladin is attempting escape for the third time. Seal doors Theta and Lambda and standby."

Lance has a gun. He's not going under again, they can't make him. He's the blue paladin! He's Lance McClain, he was a prisoner and an experiment of the Galra, and he's not ever going to go back to being blurred out like that. No matter what psychological magic they try to use, he has to come back. Lance is terrified that next time he'll go down for good.

He makes it to the fork in the hallway where the doors are. One is already starting to close, and without thinking he skids across the metal floor, slipping under it. He nearly catches his stolen gun on the lip of the door, that's how close his call is. He gets up and sees more guards that fade between being Voltron Paladins and Galra grunts. He can't open fire. Lance just can't. He won't shoot his teammates.

The galra aren't that picky, and laserfire singes his fur. Lance ducks behind a metal ship's brace and scatters fire on a group that actually looks like Galra.

Man, could Lance use a break. Lance could really, really use a break.

KABLAM!

Sound fills the hallway as something cannons itself against the hull of the ship. Screeching metal echoes and galra go down, clutching their ears. Lance among them. He tumbles as the floor tilts. This ship doesn't have windows. Did someone crash their battle cruiser? What the hell is-

The roar of a lion shakes Zarkon's ship.

Suddenly, Lance has to get out even more than he did before. He's not hallucinating this. All those guards went down, the floor is actually a few degrees diagonal. Lance wracks his brain. How is he going to find his team? What did they do last time?

Last time, Lance and Hunk ran interference, Shiro ran outright assault, and Pidge snuck in with Keith to steal back the Red Lion.

If they're attacking, that means that Team Voltron is trying to get something back. Whether it's Lance or the Blue Lion, that doesn't matter. What matters is that Lance meets them there.

Lance sprints past the soldiers still incapacitated by the high-pitched squeal of metal and snags an arm, blasting it off with his stolen gun. The guard hits the floor, helmet coming off. He runs off, slinging the helmet and arm over his shoulder before he uses it to open a door. The Blue Lion isn't supposed to be on this ship. It's supposed to be across the galaxy, worlds away. But Lance has been given nothing but lies and grief.

Lance ignores the shimmer of magic he keeps seeing.

He might as well go look where his teammates would go look. The Blue Lion should be in an extremely secure hangar protected by loads and loads of guards. Lance still can't read the signs and digital screens on the ship, but he can remember the hallways. The cells are clustered together. The throne room is at the opposite end of the ship, near the front. And like the castle, the loading bay for the lions should be somewhere behind the throne room. Altean ships and Galran ships are organized like each other. Holodeck, he remembers.

Lance puts on the helmet. His ears barely fit under it, the sound muffled.

Then he keeps going, running for the docking bay at the back and bottom of the ship. He doesn't stop to second-guess himself. Lance'll have time for panic later. Right now, he can't forget.

The scientist over the cell intercom doesn't bother to take further action. He's already being called to meet with the druids.

The Voltron Paladins have attacked the ship with no warning. Not even a blip on the hyperdrive warp sensor. Their bait, the redirected signal of the Blue Lion, has worked too well.

* * *

AN: And the rescue action begins! If it felt too sudden, I just thought Lance could use being thrown a bone. Glad you enjoyed the last chapter, more to come!


	11. Guess Who

Lance figures that Team Voltron (or at least some of it) is nearby when the doors he's trying to go through keep closing in his face. The arm that he's stolen to open the doors stops working after the fifth one, and he has to resort to shooting the door panels to get the locks to disengage.

His shoes pound along the metal floor, and Lance finds himself missing his paladin armor. He's just got his underarmor and a shirt and some gloves. He's painfully aware of the pschew, pschew of laser fire coming from down the hallway. If he gets hit, it's gonna hurt. And that'll make it easier for the galra to drag him back to their evil labs of doom. Lance isn't going back to the evil labs of doom. He can't handle it again.

The sound of a legion of backup swarms down the left hallway he comes to next, so Lance takes a guess and heads right, feeling sweat soak his face under the helmet.

His head starts to ache, but Lance keeps moving.

When he comes across a galra dreg missing an arm and another tossed haphazardly over it, a laugh bubbles up from the back of his throat. Kind of morbid for the galra, but all Lance can think is 'They're down here. They got here first.' His happiness is mixed with faint terror. Lance can remember for now. That vision that happened after the witch hit him with that yellow marble. Would they do that? Just look at him and see a galra? They couldn't. They'd listen. They had to listen.

No second-guessing. An air vent hangs open twenty feet ahead, the vent cover on the ground. But that's not where Pidge is, Lance is guessing, considering that the vents are swept over by small red laser dots. Not even Pidge is quick enough to dodge lasers in that small of a space.

The thought of Pidge, actual real-life fell-asleep-under-a-planet-skimmer-once Pidge makes Lance's heart ache. He still has to find his teammates, but the hope of rejoining them makes him feel lighter. Makes his brain clearer, that little ball of sleeping wire disintegrating every time he reaffirms that yes, they are his family, and yes, Lance is going home. The magic seems weaker when Lance is determined.

Lance misses home. He's perpetually homesick.

There's only one door past this fork, and it's a huge shutter door. This place is obviously where they bring the cargo that gets brought in. The door lock hasn't been shot, but the arm that was missing from the earlier grunt is on the ground, tossed there like Pidge tried Lance's trick and it failed on the first try. When he gets closer, he can see that the door's lock is green. Pidge permanently unlocked it when being tricky didn't work.

A grin splits Lance's face. He laughs longer until it peters out into a sort of rumble that just makes him feel better and seems to chase his lingering anxiety away.

With one gloved hand, he opens the Pidge-jimmied door and sweeps in, his stolen gun hanging from his back. Lance can totally pull off 'Detective Paladin'. He's a smart guy. With another calming rumble, he searches for clues.

Lance is a terrible detective, but he still gets results. Mostly because what he was looking for suddenly has a weapon half a foot away from him. Pidge swipes again and Lance shrieks, ducking. He flashes back to getting attacked during the fitness tests, facing off against the Pidgebot and Pidge and he immediately searches for the strip holding the gun to his back. "Whoa! Stop! Pidge, stop!"

He throws the gun to the ground, where it lands with a clatter of plastic and metal. Pidge freezes, her arm drawn back with her grapple. She looks him up and down, like she's still going to jab him with her weapon. He flinches at the thought. "It's me!"

Pidge's teeth grit before she finally opens her mouth, green bayard still at the ready. She still looks like she's going to attack him, but then she really listens. Turns what he's said over in her head. Lance can see the moment she recognizes his voice. She's shocked. "...Lance?"

Lance just nods, both of his hands held up in a 'don't tase me, bro' manner. He waits for her and desperately hopes that his nightmare was just that- a nightmare.

Pidge doesn't do anything extravagant, like tackle Lance in the hug that he could honestly use. She just lowers her bayard, clips it deliberately to her belt, and then extends her hand. She looks like she wants to poke him, make sure he's really there and not some kind of hologram. She points at his helmet, and then takes off her own.

What- what's going on? That's not like Pidge. Lance keeps his mouth shut, tongue pressed to the back of his sharp teeth.

"They said you were dead," Pidge tells him, and Lance's blood runs cold.

Lance shakes his head. He blinks for good measure, bringing up his hands again. "W-what? No way. I'm not dead. I'd know if I was dead. There would've been a parade in honor of my life and I would've ditched heaven to show up. You know me!"

"Take off the helmet, Lance."

Lance feels cold fingers take hold of his lungs. He takes a short breath. "Uh- that's not a good idea, Pidge. It's a disguise. I just stole this helmet, too-"

"Just take it off, okay?!"

Lance shakes his head and Pidge brings up the bayard between them. The message is clear- if Lance won't show his face, he has to be a fake. Because Lance is apparently dead. Dead for how long? How long has he been trapped here?

There's a metal clank and a voice starts down the hall. The intruders are this way, they say. Lance feels his heart clench and he immediately shoves Pidge away, into a gap between a computer console and a stack of crates. He tries to follow, but even though Lance is skinny, he's not exactly tiny. He can hear them coming in and it terrifies Lance even as he folds up, his shoulder pressed to Pidge's.

Pidge is quiet, a computer mounted on her wrist. Lance catches the glint of light from the open doorway on the gun he threw away a few minutes ago and he feels sick for it. Pidge swipes the lightscreen with two fingers. Lance's shoulders block most of the glow from it in the gap they're hiding in.

Tick, tick, tick.

Bootsteps get closer. Lance can't hear in this helmet. His palms sweat under his gloves. The world shimmers and Pidge flickers next to him. For a second, she's the training robot. He's back in that room. Mulletbot is circling behind him.

Pidge taps her screen three times.

The hallway blares sound three times.

The footsteps stop.

Lance holds his breath.

An alarm sounds from the same source. There's the sound of someone in metal armor turning. "Orders received. Providing backup to corridor Alpha-116."

It isn't until the last set of footsteps is out of earshot that Lance relaxes even slightly, lodging himself out of the crack and breathing hard. Pidge follows, simply standing up. She's giving him a weird look.

"If you're really Lance," Pidge says, fiddling with her wrist computer, "Tell me something only Lance would know. Something the Galra wouldn't think to interrogate him about."

Lance has to think for a second.

"Uh," he says, voice weak. "Before I got captured, you told the team you couldn't man up."

That gets a reaction. Pidge stops.

"I was the only one who hadn't figured it out," Lance says, smiling. For a second he forgets that his smile might make Pidge more suspicious of him. "Man, was that embarrassing."

"...Pidge?" Lance asks, tilting his head. He expected her to say something.

"We've got to get back to the Green Lion."

"Wha-"

Pidge grabs the crook of his arm and pulls. "We came back to try and find the Blue Lion after its signal came back online. A couple of days ago it just lit up like a beacon. I'm... I'm sorry we didn't come earlier. There were broadcasts, Lance. They shot the blue paladin and said any other supporters of Voltron would meet the same fate. We couldn't get past their vanguard. It was too large that first month."

Lance definitely doesn't have any laser-holes in him. Pidge's voice is thick, but she's focused. Pidge is like that. She saves her grief and makes it into anger. Angry Pidge is not someone to cross, because she'll make you regret getting in her way if it's the last thing she does.

"I'm not dead!"

"Well, now I know that! We have to get to the Green Lion and let everyone else know that!"

Lance sputters. "Why not just use the communicator?"

"We're maintaining radio silence! This is supposed to be a two-pronged attack. I run espionage, and Shiro and Hunk give cover fire. I can't send messages inside the ship, or it'll be processed by the ship's communication sensors. I had a hard enough time coming up with a data-mining program flexible enough for the mission. Lance, come on."

Lance allows himself to be tugged along, wary of how close Pidge gets to the edge of his sleeve and his glove. He's led back out into the hallway where Pidge lets go of him and climbs up the wall into the laser-lined air vent. "Pidge!"

She sighs. "The grid's sensors are down."

"I can't fit in there."

Pidge ignores him and hooks the end of her bayard's grapple into the vent. She throws the rope down to him. "You can. Let's go."

Lance is still sure that he won't fit. But Pidge is here, and the fact that he could finally be leaving sings in his head. Lance has to hold it together, he thinks as he wraps the grapple line around his arm. It retracts fast, yanking Lance off of his feet. He hits the edge of the vent hard, and his first thought is that 'I might be able to fit. It's bigger than it looks'.

It's wishful thinking on Lance's part. His shoulders scrape either side of the vent. The darkness is suffocating as they start to move down the vents. "This's exhausting."

He hears Pidge's snort a few feet ahead. Really, it says. Now?

Yeah, now, he thinks. Lance is a talker. He needs to talk or he's going to start panicking in the dark. "What? Not up your alley?"

Pidge keeps climbing.

"Where- Where's the Lion? That's need-to-know stuff. I need to know."

"Not far," Pidge says. "The Green Lion's clinging to the hull outside. I cut through the wall of a storage room to get in after killing the sensors. The security clearance was too low for them to bother to do a sweep. Green's in stealth mode, out there."

"You cut a hole in a ship in the middle of space?"

"The shield went up after. The Galra ships are fascinating, they've got this kind of... shield scabbing technology. For space debris, originally, according to the files I've been able to steal. Break through a small enough section of the hull, and the particle shields will seal in the atmosphere to prevent decompression injuries while keeping high-speed foreign objects out."

The sound of Pidge's voice calms Lance down. He's a social guy. Having someone he knows talk like everything is safe and nothing is wrong is just what he needs. It's just Pidge, his brain says. Talking about science. Ignore the fact that you're stuck in a vent too small to turn around in.

"There it is," she mutters, and Lance can see the dot of light at the end of the vent. He starts wriggling faster.

Pidge simply jumps out when she sees the inside of the room. Lance ends up having to shimmy even more until he can get his arms out. He ends up on his back on the floor. Ow. Man, that hurts.

...there is in fact, a giant circular hole in the wall of the ship. Lance can see through it. Stars twinkle off in the distance. If he strains, he can see the dim curve of a moon. Mostly, what takes up the hole is the ramp that leads into the Green Lion's mouth.

"This is real," he mutters to himself, eyes widening. His voice is thick.

Pidge looks back at him and then tries to scoop him up so his arm is over her tiny shoulders. Lance appreciates the gesture but ends up having to hold most of his own weight. Together, they move forward. Out the hole. There's atmosphere enough to breathe thanks to the Green Lion's own particle barrier. Pidge must've planned the escape with her lion ahead of time.

To think, Lance wonders, that as a kid Lance would've found walking into a lion's mouth crazy. All he knows right now is that it's the sanest thing he's done in forever.

Pidge climbs into her pilot's seat and Lance sprawls out, his lanky limbs taking up entirely too much space. The lion seals up and starts to hum. Quiznak, he's so tired. Lance is so, so tired.

"Green to Castle," she says clearly and concisely. She's dead serious as she talks. "I've got good news."

"You found the Blue Lion?" Allura's voice drifts off the radio. Lance closes his eyes.

"No," Pidge refutes. "I found _Blue_."

* * *

AN: The rescue continues! Thank you for your reviews. Glad everyone's enjoying the rescue so far. But it's not over yet. Til' then!


	12. Diplomacy

The silence is a living thing. It's eating away at Lance. Come on, Allura, say something. Lance keeps his eyes closed, glad that the helmet he stole hides them in the dark. He should be able to relax now. Should be able to calm down and joke. He just- he just can't get out of that mindset. Lance can't fall asleep.

"...could you repeat that, Green?"

"I found Blue. He's not dead. Castle, I know we have to find the Blue Lion, but Blue needs pickup."

Wait. Wait, wait, wait, they're looking for Blue. That means they need him. He has to find Blue, right? "Blue's here?"

"What? Is Blue Pilot in the Lion with you, Green?"

Pidge sighs and adjusts her communications system. "Say hi, Blue."

"Hi, Blue," Lance replies without thinking, and then he barrels on. "They kept Blue in the same ship as me?!" He'd had suspicions, but confirmation just proves that he was being lied to and that there's something wrong with his connection to Blue. He can't feel her.

"La- Blue Pilot!" Allura nearly shouts, and Lance presses himself up against the side of the Lion's cabin. Even muffled by the helmet, it's loud to his ears. "Blue Pilot, what is your condition?"

'Blue Paladin, what is your perceived condition?'

Lance shudders. "Been better. But you know me, I'm still the best."

Pidge interjects. "He's exhausted and a little beat up. Castle, I don't know if I can get back inside. Shiro's grand entrance distracted them when I initially got in, but now they're on high alert for intruders."

"Understood," Allura replies. There's a few tones. "Connect to the other Lions and strategize. I'm encoding your signal. The Galra'll be scanning for your communications."

"Got it, Castle." Lance still doesn't get why they're using code-names. They didn't used to use them. Everyone seems so much harder, tougher. What happened to them when Lance was gone?

Man, Lance is tired of questions. He reaches a hand up under his helmet and scowls when he finds that he can't scratch when he's got the gloves on. Pidge opens another communication channel and there's a burst of feedback. Someone's getting shot at on the other end of the line.

"Black, Red, what's up? Yellow, you there? " Pidge asks. There's a curse in reply and a 'I'll get that one!' from what sounds like... Keith? Shiro huffs, breathing hard.

"Not a good time, Green," he reprimands, his voice strained. "Think we found the Blue Lion. But there's Galra all around and we can't cut through them."

"Blue!" Lance lurches towards Pidge. Pidge looks like she'll shove him off when he leans on her arm to get to the communicator, but she doesn't. Good ol' Pidge. "Is Blue there?"

"Lance?!" That's Shiro and Keith in surround sound.

"Rumors of my death were totally wrong," Lance replies. "I'm with Pidge. Can you see Blue?"

"You're alive!" That's Hunk. And while hearing all of them for real is enough to make Lance tear up, Lance is getting tired of being told he's dead. By now, being tired of anything is not a new feeling.

"Hunk, buddy!" Lance's not as enthusiastic as he feels he should be. Hunk makes up for it. He sputters and sounds glad and suspicious all at the same time he's saying something indistinct about how long Lance has been gone. "Missed you."

Quiznak, he missed all of them. It's an actual weight that's gradually lifting.

More laser fire. Hunk grunts and Lance is caught in worry. His best friend just coughs and says "Wish this thing would charge faster. No offense."

Hunk's apologizing to his Lion. It's funny, he didn't used to do that. Lance did it once and the whole team joked about it afterwards. Lance didn't mind, because he and Blue were tighter than ever afterwards.

Blue. Gotta find Blue.

"Keith, the opening!"

"Keep it clear, I'm going in!" Keith calls back, and there's a loud explosion sound that rocks the ship that the Green Lion is clinging to. "Quiznak!"

"Updates," Pidge demands. She can't see what's going on.

"This place is where the signal is coming from, but there's no Lion! It's a trap! I'm under heavy fire!"

It's a trap. The whole thing was a trap and Lance didn't know because he couldn't feel Blue and they must've let him escape to distract Pidge and oh, shit- Lance's chest tightens up. His hands are clenched so tightly now that he can feel his claws through the gloves. He can't calm down. Can't do it, no way, he's breathing hard and-

Pidge puts a hand on his shoulder. She tightens her grip. Lance turns his head and she looks where she probably thinks his eyes are. "Lance, breathe."

Lance says something breathlessly.

"Inhale and hold it."

He does so. Holds it for a while.

"Exhale."

Lance exhales and is struck with the image of his cell, of his scientist-voice in his ear running him through the same motions. It locks up his chest again and god, this sucks. His friends are in danger and he can't calm down and this sucks.

And then Pidge's arm finds its way around his shoulders. Lance freezes. She sighs. He didn't notice when she got out of the Green Lion pilot seat, which is a feat because there's barely enough room to turn around in Green's tiny cab. She gives him a supportive squeeze, and Lance... breaks.

He clings. He doesn't sob, not big exaggerated sounds of sadness. Instead, he keeps quiet like he's done since he was a kid and felt honestly heartbroken, occasionally wracking himself with a gasp. His tears don't track down his face- they soak into his fur under the helmet. Pidge holds on, despite the fact that she's not the hugging type and Lance is basically smothering her with his need to let it all out. The weight that's been lifting gets lighter as more and more of it trickles away from him, and eventually he just finds himself leaning against Pidge, all cried out.

He feels a hot wash of shame course up his neck, prickling his hair. The sound of laser fire continues over the communications line, and Lance feels like such a pendejo because people are actually in danger.

"So, uh," Lance begins, pulling his arms away. Pidge doesn't move. "It's just... been a long time."

"PIDGE! IT'S TIME TO GO!" Shiro shouts.

Lance jolts, and Pidge gives Lance a look that says 'You're not fooling anyone' before she climbs back into her pilot's seat. "What about the Blue Lion?"

"It's definitely not here. We barely got Red out and Yellow's Lion took heavy fire. We'll keep searching later, but now we've got to go. The team is more important!"

What happened to completing the mission?

"A really long time," Lance mutters to himself, and something scratches at the back of his mind.

Don't leave just yet, it hums to him, almost desperate. Lance doesn't trust his mind- the Galra have messed it up enough. But this feeling is insistent, and warm, and his eyes aren't seeing anything that isn't there. Don't go. Not without me.

...he has to find Blue. But Blue isn't here, because the loading bay that Shiro just broke into with Keith and Hunk was a trap. Wasn't it? They wouldn't keep the Blue Lion in plain sight after that.

Lance bolts upright and hits his head on the ceiling. It doesn't hurt much- he's wearing a helmet. But the crick in his neck begs to differ.

"Pidge?" He asks. She looks at him through the corner of her eye, already working through the controls to take off. Allura gives them an estimate of when the wormhole will be ready- about five ticks. That's enough time for Shiro, Hunk, and Keith to book it to the castle and get within its particle barrier from where the castle is hidden behind the moon, according to the altean princess. "I think... I think I know where Blue is."

Pidge shakes her head at him, starting the Green Lion. It jumps and Lance is forced back to hold tight to the back of her seat. "I'm serious!"

"We don't have time," Pidge tells him. "You just broke down sobbing after being gone for three months. And Green doesn't have the firepower to stick around and search. Lance, we're out of options and we need to leave."

"Nobody's in any shape to play hero," Shiro pipes up, and suddenly Lance remembers that they're still on open comms. "We're not losing anyone else. Pidge, get Lance home. That's an order-"

Lance, now halfway over the console, feels bad about turning off the radio, but he has to get Blue. Click.

"They couldn't find Blue in the loading bay because they moved the signal up," Lance blurts. "What if she wasn't in the bay, but she was _under_ it?"

To Lance's shock, Pidge considers it.

"...you really can't make a Lion's signal seem like it's further away than it is," She concludes. "They're ancient technology and magic. You can augment it, but the Lions are too strong to manipulate much. Hypothetically, they might be able to move Blue's beacon enough to fool our lions. A dummy signal like in a trap wouldn't work at all." She blinks. "What made you guess that?"

Lance feels that hum in his mind. "I don't know. I hope it's Blue."

"We have to get back to the ship."

"I know," he responds. "But we need Blue more. No Blue, no Voltron."

"Voltron's not the only thing that matters," Pidge cuts him off. "We matter."

"Are you with me?" Lance doesn't want to do much else than curl up somewhere and sleep. But there's no rest for the wicked, and less for the righteous. He needs his lion. "We don't have a lot of time."

Pidge's lion, still cloaked, leaps forward. It jumps along the ship, more of a cheetah than a lion as it dashes towards the huge hole swarming with Galra ships.

"If it's not there, we're screwed," she mutters.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not," Pidge says, and that's the end of it.

Subtlety flies out the window when Pidge starts leapfrogging off the ships to get inside, Galra robots and soldiers falling under the Green Lion's paws. A few sweeps of the Green Lion's invisible tail take out more of the grounded space clippers, and a couple well-placed shots take out the control tower. The doors are stuck closed until someone blasts them open, or until the galra repair drones get to this part of the ship. Lance hopes it takes a while- the other members of his team had to have taken out a lot of it, judging by how much retaliation they met up with. Pidge flicks a few switches that definitely weren't in the Lion before Lance got captured and the screen changes.

According to the readout, the Blue Lion should be directly inside this room, two feet under the Green Lion. But it's not, and that scratch at the back of Lance's mind is so much stronger. Pidge shoots some more, and the floor lights up with ignited fuel. The Green Lion is capable of withstanding extreme temperatures and concussive force, but the galra aren't. They're thrown back, and the floor ends up with a hole in it that's maybe ten feet wide in the middle of a dented crater.

That's it, Lance realizes. Blue is below. Hidden in plain sight, like the Paladins of Voltron are too dumb to figure it out. The blue glow of a particle barrier peeks out, and Lance lurches around. The hum in his mind is a rumble. There's no words, which is weird for Blue. It keeps fading in and out, but it's stronger. "Open the door."

"Are you crazy?!" Pidge demands. "No way!"

"Blue's down there! There's the particle barrier, can't you see it?" He feels around the Lion's door, but there's no release. "Pidge!"

"Wait a second!" She snarls at him, bringing down her lion and activating her own barrier. "I don't see anything. This is a trap, Lance!"

"Just trust me!" He begs, and he feels awful again. Lance is some galra experiment who's been gone (apparently dead) for three months, and here he is driving Pidge into danger and telling her to trust him. Who even is he to do that? Lance doesn't even trust himself! "We've got only a few minutes and I have to get her!"

Pidge lets out a sound that can only be called 'displeased teenager' and she sets Green next to the hole. "If you die, I'll let Hunk kill you!" The door opens and the sounds of fighting Galra rush past him. The helmet cuts out the worst of it, but it's still loud and Lance does his best to rabbit straight to the hole.

Like an idiot, he doesn't even look down. He just jumps into a dark hole barely lit with blue and hopes for the best. His eyes see better in the dark than Pidge's do, by far.

It's a surprise to him when he lands on his feet five feet down, clinging to something smooth, warm, and undeniably there instead of a particle barrier. While he was falling, it shut down. The Blue Lion gazes back at him, almost through the helmet, and Lance clings, wishing he could feel something more than the echo of her presence in his mind.

Lance? Blue asks, not in words, almost too quiet to feel. She's shackled to the ground, but stretched up far enough to catch him. He feels like he's underwater, because everything is quiet, and cool, and manageable for the first time in forever. Lance's shaking hands reach up, and he pulls the helmet off. Cool air caresses his ears and ruffles his fur. It drops from his claws, takes a few seconds before he hears it hit the floor. He bites the inside of his cheek, worried.

Lance, Blue says, stronger this time. She returns her head to the ground, setting him down. Then she opens her mouth.

Lance tears up again. He feels like he's cried too much.

Lance climbs into Blue's cockpit and feels calm wash over him as he buckles himself in. The fatigue he's been carrying around settles on him once more like a heavy blanket. He loosely takes the controls. Blue locks up and then snarls, shooting her restraints as soon as they're connected again, mentally holding hands.

"Gotta follow Pidge," he mumbles, his head already sinking to one side. "The Green Lion."

Going home.

We are going home, Blue Lion assures him, and then in her fury she freezes the metal above her solid and they burst out, shattering the last of the ship's hold.

The Green Lion runs, and Blue runs with her. They bombard the Galra, sweep past them, fight like utter demons in their joy, anger, and grief. The Galra ships stand no chance in Lance's mind, even when Blue takes a lucky shot or two. They make it to the Castle, fly inside- the castle begins to warp away-

And Lance finally, finally sleeps without dreams.

* * *

AN: The rescue is complete! Blue and Lance have been rescued! But Lance isn't out of the woods yet... Thank you for your reviews, favs and follows! Hope the rescue lived up to expectations. There's more to come. Til' then!


	13. Sleuth

The floor, for once, is slightly warm to the touch. Before he opens his eyes, Lance can feel that through his shirt. At some point before he passed out but after he and Blue landed in the Lion Hangar, Lance made his way to the floor and then fell asleep there. His face is pressed up against his arm, and maybe it's the change in scenery but he can tell he smells like unwashed cat.

It takes a little bit to get back to himself, remember what happened. Laying on the floor in Blue's cockpit, Lance has three different spaces in his spine that are all complaining at the same time as well as a pounding headache. His teeth hurt because he was gritting them in his sleep. At some point he wrestled one of his gloves off and now he's scratching because he still itches.

But Lance is a morning person, and you never, never just forget the galra.

The terror doesn't suddenly rush back, like water; instead, he just notices its presence more and more, like sitting in front of an air conditioner that's just a little too cold.

He sits up and braces either side of his head with his hands.

That actually happened. It totally just happened. Lance is sitting in Blue's cockpit once more, he got rescued by Pidge, and Blue is in the Castle of Lions.

Oh, quiznak. Oh, man.

He doesn't regret it. Lance is overjoyed, jubilated, utterly gleeful that he's back and not dead and Team Voltron is whole again. But as he looks at his hands, one normal in a glove and the other matted and clawed he feels his chest freeze over with a little more fear. He's not the same, now. Pidge didn't see him without the helmet, they don't know what happened to him. If Lance gets out of Blue, he's a galra now. He looks like a galra now. His mind tenses up and he loses his focus. What if they don't... what if they really don't believe him? Think it's a trick? What if-

Blue was dozing before. She moves slightly at the back of his mind and brings him back. It's okay. They're in the Castle of Lions. Not in that other place.

It's probably been barely 12 hours, at most. It feels like he's still there, like that little golden ball that got stuck in his head will make him see them reject him again. Lance shudders.

He regrets throwing away that helmet, now. Lance searches around and finds the glove that came off. He tugs it on and feels better, not having to look at his fur, his claws. Maybe now he can get out of his weird emo funk and start coming up with a plan. ...Quiznak, he has no plan. Lance has the opposite of a plan. Shiro and Pidge and Allura are much, much better at coming up with plans. Please don't let them come up with a plan to kick him out of the team when they see his furry face.

...huh. Communicator's been beeping this whole time. It's probably what woke him up. How did Lance miss that?

Heaving himself up, he pretended not to notice how much his legs were shaking as he hit the communications button. Lance regretted it and immediately clamped his hands over his ears, which didn't do much. Galra ears were apparently much, much more sensitive than human ears.

"-IF YOU DON'T PICK UP RIGHT NOW, I'LL KEEP YELLING! Oh, wait, is that- yeah, it's on. Lance!" Hunk's voice accosts him, and Lance waits for him to quiet down before replying.

"Hey, buddy," Lance croaks. Wow, he sounds awful. Coughing clears up some of it, but he still sounds different to himself. "Why am I getting yelled at and did I deserve it?"

There's something across the line that's just too upset to be Hunk clearing his throat, but if Hunk doesn't bring it up, Lance won't point it out. Unusual for him, but Lance doesn't have the energy. He's too busy trying to figure out how to keep his team from seeing him for the rest of his natural life. No big.

"It's really you," Hunk says quietly, slowly. Just a second ago he was upset and energetic and now he sounds surprised. Lance swallows.

"Yeah, not dead," Lance tries to say, like it doesn't matter, but his voice cracks. "Uh, went through... a lot. But you can't keep Lance McClain down. The tailor is no so-so guy!"

Hunk snorts. And suspiciously sniffs a few times. "Pidge was right. It's gotta be you. Come on, buddy. There's a lot to talk about, get Blue to let you out."

Lance breathes easier.

"I-" He swallows. "Yeah, just wait. She's kinda... protective." That's a lie. Blue's not wary of Hunk in the slightest. Lance is the one who's avoiding Panictime Junction.

"Okay," Hunk replies, but he sounds confused and over the line he can hear Pidge in the background telling him something. "Uh, take your time. If you need it. We just- Lance, we thought- no. No, it's cool. Totally cool."

"He wouldn't take off this helmet," Pidge had said. "I think the Galra did something to his face."

...yeah, Lance thinks, rubbing at his cheek. This counts as doing something to his face.

"We won't care about your face," Hunk adds, and it sounds like it shouldn't be but it's so sincere it hurts. "We need to know you're alright."

This isn't fair. This isn't fair to them, for Lance to hide out in Blue when he's been gone forever and everything's changed and his whole team acts like they've really been through a war. Lance missed so much, but he hasn't been thinking about how they must've lost, too.

"It's just you guys?" Lance's voice is small. "Garrison bros?"

"We can kick Allura out," Pidge says immediately. "Coran's running diagnostics on the warp drive, and Shiro and Keith disappeared to talk. It's just us."

Lance slumps into his pilot's chair. Shiro is a big worry in his head- Shiro got taken by the galra too, went through the worst of it. And now Lance has a galra face. It all comes down to the fact that Lance is not human anymore. It's the worst possible thing that could have happened, because no matter what the team won't be able to fit together like they did before. Lance can't focus, he's always jittery. He'll always set Shiro off because of his face. Keith, Hunk, and Pidge will have to deal with the fact that even on good days, forming Voltron... Forming Voltron might not happen. Not without practice.

He heaves, his head suddenly between his knees. God, why is this such a hard decision to make? Es tan asustado.

Gravel in his throat. "It's not- it's probably not as bad as I think it is. Right?"

"Right," Hunk tacks on. Lance can hear him, unsure and confident at the same time. A little scared.

"Don't shoot," he mutters, all of the fur under his shirt puffing up. Wow. Five pounds right there added to his frame.

"Why would we-"

Click. He turns off the communicator and it makes a sharp noise. Lance has to do this now. Right now. He has to do it or he'll lose his nerve and stay in with Blue and he can't afford that. His team needs him. Voltron needs him. Earth needs him. He's the weak link, but this chain can't afford to break just because Lance is a little too scared to try.

Blue, reading his mind, leans down. Her head lays on the smooth metal of the loading bay, and with less warning than he'd like her mouthramp opens up and cool, filtered air floods the previously warm, stale cabin. His nose burns from the change in temperature and he rubs it.

Like he's watching someone else do it, Lance's arms push him out of his pilot's chair. He stumbles to the door, his legs tired and achy.

His hand braces his weight against the lip of the Lion's mouth.

And Lance walks out, eyes immediately complaining when he's confronted with actual fluorescent lighting. It stings and he throws up an arm to block out the worst of it. Lance could probably do a good impression of that naked guy from those Lord of the Rings movies right now.

Tap, tap, tap, tap. That's the sound of someone running, Lance thinks, reacting instead of looking. He pulls back his arms, takes up a defensive position, feels the fur on the back of his neck stand up-

Pidge skids to a stop in front of him, her eyes wide with surprise, mouth a tiny upside-down 'u'.

Lance doesn't move a muscle. Except the ones in his right hand, because he's an idiot. Lovable idiot. Squishy blue paladin heart of gold, he tells himself, even as he waves sheepishly with one hand. Why is he smiling? He's got fangs! It probably doesn't look like he's chagrined. Pidge'll think it was all a scam and he'll get tasered and it'll all go bad and-

Pidge doesn't do any of the things his brain is coming up with. She looks surprised, sad, and just as tired as Lance does. It crosses her face and stays there like a shadow.

Pidge waves back to him.

Lance's defensive position dissolves. He slumps. His ears tip down.

"So," She says awkwardly, wrestling with what to say. "'Did something to your face'?"

Lance nods.

"It's not that bad," Pidge tells him. "It's not." She pulls out a communicator, dials for Hunk. "His face is fine," she says into the overgrown walkie-talkie. "It just looks different."

Lance hears Hunk from where he is. Galra hearing. 'Can I come in, now?'

"Yeah, but don't freak," she instructs, walking closer to Lance. Lance tucks his hands into his pockets. They're shaking a little, which is bad because it'll mess with his gunmanship.

Hunk strides in, a hydraulic door hissing open. Well, not really a stride. Hunk is running. It's a sight to behold because wow, Lance can see Hunk's face now and Hunk was way more worried than he sounded. Hunk worries. He's a worrier. That's what he does. He has worry written all over his face even as he barrels towards Lance and then slows, his approach a crawl when he's within six feet.

"Oh," he says. Hunk looks... shocked. Disturbed. Disturbed by Lance, and it hurts. The disbelief stings.

Lance doesn't reply. He shrugs a shoulder. Feels some kind of ugly well up in his chest-

Lance is pretty floored when not twenty seconds later he's swept up in the Hunk Hug to end all Hunk Hugs. Hunk's hugs are legendary, because Hunk's a giant teddy bear and his hugs are perfect. Just the right amount of pressure, warmth, and security all in one, convenient package. Being hugged by Hunk is like being hugged by comfort itself. Hunk saves them for special occasions and this counts as a special occasion.

Dammit, Lance thinks, his nose starting to run. He's crying. When did- how did that happen? He's just...

Lance hugs Hunk tight and doesn't say a word. He just holds on, his face buried in Hunk's shoulder. It's gotta be weird, hugging your teammate who you thought was dead but is now a purple alien catperson who's sobbing into your shoulder.

It's so, so lucky that his best friend's always been pretty cool with weird.

Hunk... Hunk's crying too. They're both crying. Kind of feels good, kind of feels embarrassing. The good outweighs the embarrassing. Pidge, at some point, was tugged into the hug by Hunk. So now they're all in this clusterhug together, though Pidge isn't crying. She's just there, and that's good.

Eventually they run out of sad and just end up awkwardly hugging. Lance is the first to notice, but Hunk is the first to act and Pidge is the first to speak. Kind of the opposite of their usual roles.

"You need a shower," Pidge tells Lance plainly, and Lance snorts. "We've got food first, though."

"Made it myself. We've got a feast," Hunk confirms, and just like that, they're the same. Different, because who wouldn't be different now, after all that's happened. But they're still friends, still paladins, still Garrison Bros. A little messed-up faceness isn't going to change that.

Lance's heart is flipflopping between high and low. High, because he was wrong. Low, because he's still scared and he feels guilty about it. But for now, he can deal. He's with them, now. That sense of safety he used to always have is back, and quiznak, he missed it. Lance missed them. Missed everything.

Might not be over. It's definitely not over, he corrects himself, but Pidge walks ahead, scouting the hallways so Lance feels more comfortable and Hunk pushes him forward, one hand on his shoulder keeping Lance blissfully grounded. They head to the kitchen.

And when the doors are locked and the food's out and Lance has something in his stomach that isn't nutrient sponge, he finds himself starting to talk. It bubbles up, like baking soda and vinegar from a demented kid's emotions volcano.

"I thought I'd never get back," he mumbles, shoving food into his mouth. He's hungry. "Thought I'd wake up there again and Earth would be doomed and they'd get you guys next."

Hunk and Pidge are quiet. Lance sounds haunted, feels haunted, now that he's been emptied of the anxiety crawling around in him. But he forces himself to perk up, takes another bite, makes up another story. "But hey, I'm not the best guy for thinking. More of a doer," he says, looking at his spoon. Eye contact is bad, now. "And I got out. I _did_."

He takes another bite.

Hunk is the one to speak up.

"What happened, Lance?" Hunk asks. "You don't have to answer right now if it's too hard," he immediately appends, and Lance smiles weakly. Pidge watches them, plays with her food.

"How about," she offers, "You just tell us in parts? Whatever you can say in one go at a time. And then we'll stop. Until you're good."

...wow, Lance thinks. He nods. That's a really good idea. He scratches at his neck, feels Hunk looking at him, studying his different face, the fur that disappears into the high collar of the galra shirt. That reminds him, Lance thinks. He has to burn this shirt and send the ashes out into space ASAP.

"That works," Lance agrees, his voice wavering. "Do you just... should I just start talking, or...?"

Pidge opens her hands, a gesture that clearly means 'go ahead'. Lance nods. He thinks about how to phrase what he wants to say. Goes back to before, when he first got captured and they took his bayard and tried to mess with him.

"They _wanted_ the Red Lion," he starts. His palms, purple and leathery, start to sweat under gloves he'd almost forgotten he was wearing. "But you know Galra. They wanna catch 'em all, and I was the one who got caught."

* * *

AN: And so at least two members of Voltron know what's up! If it seems like they're not properly flabbergasted, Lance is first and foremost their friend who they thought was dead but isn't. Of course they're freak out, but not right in front of him! Lance needs the support, so of course logical Pidge and caring Hunk can shelve it for a bit while they collectively figure out what the hell is going on.

The rest of the team? That might be a little more problematic. Just a tad.

Thank you all for your reviews! They make writing go faster, scientific fact. I appreciate each and every one!

Til' next time!


	14. Apples to Apples

Lance stops just before the point in the story where he woke up in a creepy science lab. He's gotta psych himself up for that one, because that's where the quiznak hits the fan and he really, really doesn't want to think about any of it. Hunk and Pidge catch on quick that he can't handle it, and Hunk takes the plates. Lance's, Lance notices, has shed purple hair stuck to it. It's frustrating because barely any of his skin is exposed! How did he get hair into his own food?

He heaves a sigh and pulls himself up out of his chair. Absently runs a hand through his hair and over one oversized ear, attempting to scratch. He itches and accidentally pulls out more fur, wincing.

He really does need to get cleaned up. His hair's all matted up. Lance looks like he's been through a war zone.

"Uh, Pidge," he crosses his arms. "Do you think- I mean, I don't want to freak anybody... Just, can you check? I really need a shower. Need."

"Check the cameras?" She asks. Lance nods. "Give me a second. I'm pretty sure you've got a straight shot to the bathroom, though."

Lance smiles. Oh, man, wait. Teeth. He smiles with a closed mouth. Hunk comes back with something in his hands, and whoa, Lance can smell that. It's just like- oh, dude, did Hunk make cookies? Space-cookies? Does Lance get a space cookie?

Lance wants a space cookie.

He's suddenly two feet away from his friend, and Hunk, true to form, is already holding up a cookie. He must've baked them this morning, but as Lance takes a bite it practically crumbles apart in his mouth. How Hunk got the chocolate chips for this is a mystery but madre de dios, that is fantastic! Lance starts rumbling again. He hasn't done that since he got off the ship, but it still feels good. Without checking to see if he can, he snags another cookie. It disappears just as fast as the first one.

He's into his third when he figures out that he's being stared at.

Lance swallows comically.

Hunk and Pidge exchange looks.

"Uh- lo siento?" Maybe he should just put the third cookie back, but it's got bites in it. That'd be gross and honestly, he really doesn't want to lose his cookie goodness. But Lance still feels like he's doing something wrong, and the guilt causes anxiety to flare up inside of him. The rumbling abruptly cuts off.

"You purr," Pidge says without any fanfare. "Like a big cat."

Lance was in the middle of disposing of the rest of his evidence. He almost hacks up a lung. "W-what? Dude, you're nuts."

He's furry, he's got claws, his ears move sometimes. Lance can't purr. That's just... what is he, some kind of oversized space cat?

"No, she's right. Like Pōpoki," Hunk confirms. Lance groans. Not only is he being compared to a cat, but he's being compared to Hunk's gramma's cat. The one that keeps running up trees. Lance is pretty sure Hunk's gramma trained it to do that so she could have an excuse to call the firehouse and get handsome firemen to rescue it.

"Guess that's another notch on the belt of stuff that doesn't make sense," Lance mutters, feeling one ear twitch. Alright, he might look like a galra, might not exactly be human on the outside, but he's still Lance McClain and he doesn't have to act like this. He tamps down, focuses on not twitching anything. His left ear stills.

True to form, the other one starts to twitch.

"Agh," he groans, making a joke out of it. "Dude!" He throws up his hands. Sees Hunk crack a small smile out of the corner of his eye. Good. Pidge relaxes.

"Lance? Bathroom," Pidge points out. "I just checked the training room and it looks like Keith and Shiro are almost done. We better move."

Lance nods.

And takes another cookie. Three's just an uneven number.

Using super sneaky stealth skills- alright, so Pidge uses stealth skills, Hunk and Lance just end up humming the Mission Impossible theme- They make it past the training room and to the dorms. The bathroom hangs in the distance, practically sings out 'I'm here! There's shampoo and conditioner and _moisturizer,_ come and get it!'. Lance has to catch himself. He's drooling more over the prospect of being clean than he was over the cookies. Yeah, he's got weird priorities. So he likes to look good! That's not a crime.

If getting the grime off will make him feel like less of a lab rat, chase away bad memories of bad quintessence and bad aliens, he'll take being a little obsessed with being clean with a grain of salt. At least he's not licking himself to bathe, or something.

"Thanks, guys," he tells Hunk and Pidge. Lance kind of feels like he should thank them more. He doesn't get how they're handling this when Lance can't even handle it. Everyone on Team Voltron is way stronger than him, even when it comes to not panicking. He's still a paladin, but sometimes he feels like a pala-don't. Some kind of ugly feeling is welling up in him. His heart hurts. Man, why? Everything about today so far has been amazing. This is practically Disneyland, Lance thinks as he digs around for his product and some pants and makes his way back to the bathroom. Hunk and Pidge wait in the hallway for solidarity until he's in the bathroom and the door is locked.

This sucks. This really, really sucks. Being alone in a room, even the bathroom, has lost its appeal, because if all he can do is hurt when he's with himself... then maybe he can't _stand_ himself.

Nope. No way, Jose, go away, he thinks, a mantra in his mind. He sets bottles in the space-shower, tests the water, fills up the tub- yeah, he's taking a bath. Gonna chase away those feels with some self-pampering. Lance's earned it.

He takes off what's left of his armor, tosses his shoes to the side of the bathroom. His toes have claws, too. Then he goes for the gloves, and last but not least strips off the galra shirt. Lance isn't gentle with it and hopes that his claws gouge marks in it on the way off. Serves it right. Being a galra shirt. Die, shirt.

He didn't really notice it with the clothes on, but now that they're off he can tell that he is pretty rank. Lance patently ignores the marks that are still on his shoulders, still splayed across his collarbone, and hopes that the fur will just grow in over it, eventually. Weird thing, to hope for MORE fur, but whatever. He's not gonna freak out when he's this close to cleaning up. The water in the tub is way too high for safety, but it's steaming and warm and the little bit of soap he dumps in makes the surface frothy.

When he gets in, it slops over the sides of the tub. Gotta break a few eggs to make an omelette, he figures.

It's heavenly. Amazing. The knots he didn't even know were there unwind and he finds himself tired again, sinking so that his nose is just under the surface of the water and he's breathing out bubbles. Yeah, Lance thinks, he needed this.

And he still likes water, so that's a plus. Lance is set up to expect anything, right about now.

He spends a while in the tub. At least long enough for a thin sheen of hair to be floating across the top, the bubbles disappearing. Lance eventually stops his soak and actively uses soap to clean up, but then he discovers something- he has no idea how to clean fur effectively. He's never had this much hair before.

When he lets the drain out of the tub, he turns on the shower and somehow just makes the suds worse. How's he gonna get them out? What the heck, man. It takes almost twenty minutes to rinse, and by that time he decides that no, conditioner is not happening.

Drying is worse. Lance doesn't get dry. He gets moderately less soggy.

When he finally stumbles out of the bathroom, dressed in his old pants and favorite blue shirt, he's still dripping all over the place. But he smells pretty good. Doesn't itch any more. Aside from some mild frustrations at the galra and everything and the fact that the galra shirt didn't get shredded up when he took it off, Lance is more calm than he's been in months. He assumes it's been months. Lance didn't have any sense of time when he was... back there.

He hears voices further down the hallway. It's coming from the common room. Lance assumes it's Hunk and Pidge, but he knows that saying about assuming. He tosses his old clothes in his room (which is dusty and ridiculously untouched) and then makes his way there, sticking close to the wall. His newly sensitive hearing picks up Pidge and Hunk, but he can't make out what they're saying. It's probably safe to go in.

He pushes open the door.

"Look, we're just saying that he's been through a lot. He doesn't really look like himself, right now. It's freaky, but it's still Lance. So just... don't jump to any conclusions. He should still be in the bathroom."

Hunk is caught midword, his hands hanging in the air. Pidge is still tugging on his arm, her eyes on her laptop like she was trying to warn him. And right there, wide-eyed, not-breaking-eye-contact... is Shiro. And Keith.

Drip, drop. Lance is still wet. It's the loudest thing in the room. You could hear a pin drop.

Keith, oddly enough, is the one who springs into action. He doesn't seem to recognize Lance's clothing or his scared expression or the fact that he's sopping water all over the floor. Instead, he just jumps. Fight first, ask questions later, that's Keith.

Lance has a heart attack. A tiny one. It has to compete with the panic attack that's threatening to turn him into so much wet fur jello. He reacts, not getting pinned by the other boy and instead wheeling out of the way, lashing out with an arm and bashing Keith in the back. His vision tunnels more than he'd like.

"Keiththat'shim!" Hunk spits out, all one word. He rushes forward, catching Keith by the back of the jacket. "That's Lance! I just said he looks different!"

Shiro doesn't say a word. He's still staring. He looks uncomfortable, confused, and definitely surprised.

Keith calms down after Hunk repeats himself. Calm being a relative term- he looks between Lance and Hunk, his eyebrows drawn together and his shoulders bunched up. He opens his mouth to ask a question, and then snaps it shut. Keith detangles himself from Hunk's grip, but Hunk still looks like he'll scoop Keith up again if he tries anything like that once more.

"That's _Lance_?" Keith asks. Lance feels like he's been socked in the gut.

Can't expect everyone to take it as well as Hunk and Pidge, he supposes. Still stings.

"Yeah," a voice says. Lance is surprised that it's his own. "That's Lance." Just the right amount of sarcasm in those couple of words. Shiro is still silent.

"But you're a- you're all-" Keith makes gestures instead of describing what Lance is. Lance shrinks inward, leans up against the wall. Keith probably doesn't mean to be, but it feels like he's attacking Lance. Lance just wants to sink into the ground. Yeah, he's different.

"Keith," Shiro says at last, giving him a stern look. Keith shuts up. Man, would that be a handy skill, Lance thinks. Shiro is officially the mullet tamer.

"But that's a _galra_!"

Mullet guider, then. Can't stop Keith from being suspicious and saying the exact wrong thing for this situation. To be fair, if it were opposite, Lance would probably be doing the same thing. But it's not opposite and having this pointed out hurts, thanks, Keith.

"No," Shiro says firmly. "He's not. Lance?"

Lance shakes his head. He's not.

Shiro nods once. Lance feels nervous words bubbling up out of him. He has this urge to explain, to get them on his side, to make them understand just how much quiznak he's been through. But there's too much, and he probably won't be able to explain it all. Lance doesn't remember everything that hurts. He can just feel it.

"They, uh," he stumbles. "They did something. With something called quintessence. I know you thought I was dead, and they wanted me dead, but I'm alive and purple and-" Lance is rambling. Why is he rambling? He didn't used to do that. Even if he was talking a lot, it all had a purpose. But right now he's just spewing words and look at that, breathing is kind of hard-

Hand on his shoulder. There is a hand on Lance's shoulder. Shiro moved while he was talking, and now Shiro's robotic hand is on his shoulder and he's looking Lance straight in the amber-yellow freaky alien eyes. He looks serious, and there's something on his face Lance can't place. Lance's nervous words trickle off. He grits his teeth, hears his heart in his ears.

Shiro just stays there. And then he nods again.

"You're back," he tells Lance. "And you're still you. Even if you don't feel like it. The galra can't take that away, Lance."

Does... of course. Of course Shiro knows. He knows how this feels, how it feels to be back and not the same and still yourself regardless. This happened to Shiro, too. Except Shiro lost an arm, and Lance lost the ability to look human.

Shiro's grip tightens. "This is new. This is something we're all going to have to get used to. But we can, and we will. You know why?"

Lance shakes his head.

"Because we're still Team Voltron. Right?"

Lance looks up. Nods. Yeah, he thinks. He can't let this beat him. Lance is the Blue Paladin, and maybe he was an experiment and a prisoner and an example to the universe of what happens if you cross the galra, but first and foremost he's still human. And he's still himself.

"Right," Lance croaks out. "Right. But you're not scared? Or nervous? I look like _them_. I've got claws, my teeth are too sharp, I'm-"

"Someone smart once said that courage isn't the absence of fear, but facing up to it. We might all be a little scared, but I can guarantee that we're braver than you think. As long as we take it easy, we can avoid any problems we might have that the galra tried to plant in us."

Lance shuts up, because he can't argue with that. Shiro knows everything. He's the leader and he was captured years before Lance was even attending the Garrison.

Keith is standing behind Shiro, arms crossed. He's still studying Lance. Hunk is placed strategically between Keith and Lance, and Pidge is near the door. They're all just watching and waiting.

"But I think that we need to something before we do anything else," Shiro argues, taking back his hand and straightening out. "We don't want to have a repeat of this situation again. So Pidge-" he turns his head and Pidge meets his gaze. "-call Allura and Coran. Castle maintenance can wait."

Shiro turns back, eyes narrowing, the scar across the bridge of his nose wrinkling. "We need to have a team meeting."

* * *

AN: And I made it! Chapter's here. Took a little longer than usual! And so we see that Keith needs to work on his impulse control, Hunk can make cookies out of anything, and Shiro has been through so much Galra Shiz that he is a freakin' savant at dealing with it. Don't get me wrong, he's not perfect- and in the future, quiznak may or may not go down- but he's definitely capable of recognizing what to do for his team to succeed for now. He is Space Dad.

Next chapter: Team meeting, Coran being old and knowledgeable, and Allura making executive decisions like a boss. As you do. Thank you for all of your reviews! They're still fantastic. To Actiongirl, who drew galra!lance: Yesss, good. I approve. Heartily. Til' next time!


	15. Dominion

"Amazing," Coran exclaims, walking around Lance. As soon as the meeting was called and everyone in the same room, he was the first to react. The altean had stepped right up to examine Lance, peering at him all over. "It's been years since I've seen a galra in the flesh. Well, one who hasn't attempted to kill myself or the royal family."

Lance's patience withers and he slumps, looking away.

"Not that you would kill the royal family! You wouldn't even get a chance. I'm extremely competent in my role of serving the crown," Coran confides, one hand covering his mouth as he stage-whispers that last part almost directly into Lance's ear. Coran is ridiculously comfortable with him, and Lance isn't sure why. It's kind of... a relief? But it summons up memories of his Tia Maria, the one who always pinched his cheek and then gave him candy whenever he came to visit. There's good and bad to them both. "Now, back to business!"

Allura sits at the end of the long conference table, her hands folded under her chin. She's looking at them both like they're a puzzle she can't quite figure out just yet.

"I simply don't understand how this could have happened," Allura states, her shoulders tense. "There is no previously documented case of one specie becoming another in the castle's databanks. You say it has something to do with quintessence?"

Coran is looking in Lance's ear. Lance is trying his best to get as far away as he can without moving his feet or twitching said ear. It all adds up to making Lance look like the leaning tower of Piza. Behind him, Lance thinks that Shiro is probably face-palming. That seems like a Shiro thing to do. Hunk eventually has enough and teams up with Pidge to pull Lance's chair away from the exuberant manservant. Screeeee.

"According to the most recent castle audio logs," Coran's attention snaps back to Allura, "Yes."

The castle records audio logs? Kind of a breach in privacy. Urgh. He twitches and leans back in his chair.

"The story certainly seems unusual," Allura remarks to herself, "But we are harboring five aliens from an unconquered region of space who were chosen by the Lions of Destiny. When you deny the unusual, you rid yourself of the truth."

"Quoting your father?"

Allura blinks at Coran. "Grandmother, actually. But you know he said it all the time, too..."

Coran simply smiles and then takes his seat.

"Lance," Allura changes the subject. "If there's anything you can tell me about the process used, anything at all, perhaps we can find a solution. I understand that this is... fresh for you. It's a trial for us all, and I don't wish to cause any undue pain before we're ready to undertake it."

Lance's clawtips dig into his leg a little bit. Ow, bad idea. He unclenches his hand. "Everything's moving a little fast," he admits.

Keith, further down from Lance's right, squints at him. Pidge and Mullethead are making the exact same expression. Hunk just looks tired. And Shiro has stopped facepalming, only to instead actively take part in the 'Stare At Lance' competition. Two points for Coran, who is now attempting to examine Lance's eyeball. That kind of gutsy play is worth extra.

Lance feels a little lightheaded, but he's not going to say so. He's fine, really. He's back at the castle with Team Voltron and Coran and Allura. He's not seeing things. And he's not in some tiny cell, waiting for alien teeth to grow in and replace his old ones, and-

Everything flickers for a second. Worried shouts ring around his head, making his ears pin back further. For just a second, he's back there. It's dark and it's cold, despite the dirty fur he's covered in. There's a scientist voice in his ear. Just talking. His chest hurts. Lance tries to breathe in but it's not working right, he's breathing in but there's no oxygen, oh, god-

"Lance!" Hunk's voice. Did they get Hunk, too? They can't have Hunk. Hunk's Lance's best friend and it'll kill him if they get any of Lance's family- "Lance, it's okay."

"Where are you?" Shiro asks, his voice coming from the opposite side of his head. "Lance, can you tell me what you see?"

He tries to suck in another breath. He nods. Someone is holding his hand.

"I'm- uh-" he stutters. The scientist's voice in his ear is throwing him off. "I'm there. In the cell. I don't- I can smell it. I don't know what to do, I'm not there but I can't-"

He squeezes the hand. Hears someone hiss. "Breathe. It's okay, Lance. We don't have to talk about this. Take deep breaths."

Hunk starts to count as soon as Shiro says 'Take deep breaths', but Lance still has a death grip on whoever's hand he's holding. It takes a while for his heartrate to slow, for his breaths to get deep enough to be comfortable, for his shoulders to relax.

Lance finally opens his eyes and sees that he's surrounded on all sides by paladins. He has Coran's hand in a death grip. ...and there are multicolored alien mice in his lap.

He blinks.

"Hey," he says weakly to the mice. The chubby one tilts its head at him and curls up in the ridge between his legs. The other, smaller ones race around- one climbs up his torso and sits on his shoulder, and another somehow makes it up his head and nests there. It's kind of calming, he thinks, just to have them around. Lance doesn't know why. It's probably because mice don't care when you freak out, but people do. He looks up.

"You back?" Shiro asks him.

"Where'd I go?" Lance jokes, but it doesn't really feel like a joke. The punchline's too weak. Lance lets go of Hunk's hand and immediately spits an apology out. His nails left red indents on his best friend's hand.

"Don't apologize, I can handle it. Not like you broke the skin," Hunk excuses him, but all Lance can focus on is the way Hunk rubs the angry marks like they sting pretty badly.

Pidge pulls the mouse in his hair off of him. It chitters at her, offended at being manhandled.

"Sorry," he says to the whole table. "I got this. It's just a little memory, it's not a big deal. There was this-" he struggles to find a word that isn't a swear and settles on an actual descriptor word- "Witch. And magic underlings. And a science guy, and they used lightning on marks and it..."

Why is Lance doing this to himself. Better question- why can't he handle talking about this for more than a minute? Is he just that much of a wimp? There has to be something wrong with him. Something more wrong than the fur and teeth and claws at any rate, dumb Lance who can't just suck it up and-

"Lance, stop," Pidge orders, and Lance shuts up because Pidge could give Shiro and Allura a run for their money in her sheer ability to own a command. Allura backs her up, standing just next to her. And Allura, unlike Pidge, is intimidating in stature.

"We will continue this conversation when you are better able to work through what has happened. And we will be helping you. Until I can sense that you are emotionally ready to confront the past few months, we will be taking small steps." Allura is kind of a mama bear, for being an alien chameleon elf.

Lance nods.

"Good," she finally says. "Back to our team meeting. All paladins will report to a healing tube for a monthly physical scan within the next two weeks, as per our agreements. We will still have our daily Voltron meditation sessions. I believe they'll be beneficial to the mental health of this team. Now, more than ever, we have to lean on and rely on one another."

"I prefer not to state the obvious, but this is a team meeting," Allura continues. "Our valued team member whom we thought to be dead has returned after being kept as a prisoner of war of the Galra. Lance has been deeply affected by his time away, inwardly and outwardly. It will take time and understanding to make us a cohesive unit once more." She pauses. "Not just a unit; a family once more."

Lance likes that correction. Hunk steals a mouse from Lance's shoulder and pets it anxiously, nodding.

Shiro cuts in. "We're in this together, and our experiences can help us help each other."

"...I'm still not sure about any of this. And I'm not convinced that this isn't some kind of galra scam," Keith says slowly. "But you're right. We've got to get back into shape to form Voltron. If Allura and Shiro are behind this, then..." He shrugs one shoulder. "Sorry, for... tackling you?"

Lance gives him an incredulous look. Keith shrugs the other shoulder. He tried.

"I'd give you a hug, buddy," Hunk says, "But you're still soaked. Man, they don't make hairdryers big enough."

Pidge's glasses glint. She catches whiff of the challenge. That look kind of makes Lance nervous.

"Ridiculous," Coran cuts in. He's been listening this whole time. "Listen, Lance, if your looks don't deceive me, you should be able to use one of the dryers we have in storage. Their chambers are plenty big."

Everyone looks at Coran.

He raises both bushy red eyebrows. "This war has taken place over millennia, paladins. Before we sent ourselves into cryosleep, we had few precious allies who were galran. This is an ancient castle; if we didn't have the proper facilities for friends of all shapes, could we truly be a diplomatic, chameleon-like species?"

"It's scary easy to forget you're an alien," Lance admits. Although right now saying that feels kind of like the pot calling the kettle black.

"I'll take that as a compliment to my diplomacy skills," Coran thanks him. "Now, I should retrieve a full-sized dryer for the baths. You look like you could use it, paladin."

Lance really could. He's waterlogged to hell and back.

"Now," Shiro says, once Coran has left the room in search of a huge alien hairdryer. "Can we decide if this meeting's covered the basics?" Everyone knew what had happened to Lance during his imprisonment, if not how. They also knew just how bad it was getting in his head, thanks to the little breakdown he just had. And Coran was already making plans to make the castle a little more fur-friendly.

Lance feels a pang in his chest. It's weird for your body to hurt when you feel happy and relieved. It's like his body's not used to the feeling and it's rebelling. Like white blood cells sensing bad bacteria.

"There's more day-to-day business," Allura says, "But I think we could all use a break."

The princess claps her hands together. "We still have that odd deck of cards you had us print out. Some leisure time wouldn't hurt anyone at this point."

That's the short, two-sentence summary of how five paladins, two alteans, and three surprisingly card-savvy mice end up playing poker. It's also the lead-in for how Coran comes in to ask Lance to test the drying chamber only to discover its last occupant left it on way too strong of a setting.

Lance takes the pot while looking like an angorra rabbit and chucks his chips at the others until they stop snickering. The game goes on for longer. Even Hunk, who usually turns in at the same time just slightly less religiously than Lance used to stays up to keep going. He brings out what's left of the cookies, though Lance doesn't see many more of them. Shiro is a surprisingly quick cookie-hog.

They fall asleep in the common room, Lance tucked against the back and arm of the curved couch. The sound of people breathing takes him away from bad memories of the past and carries him along in the present.

...he wakes up with mice burrowed into his hair. Apparently, it was just too comfy to resist.

* * *

AN: Writer's block! Gotta love it. Man, they just don't make chisels for mental chunks of anti-literary matter. But at least everyone is now on the same page on Team Voltron. Rest assured, there's gonna be more fluff. And more emotional upheaval. Can't enjoy the fluff without the upheaval. Thank you for all your reviews, you great readers. To actiongirl, I am 100% behind seeing this masterpiece of purple cat alien. Feel free to share! And to rangergirl, no, no Klance. This is a gen spacefamily fic. EVERYONE GETS TO BE SPACEFAMILY. Even Keith, who gets to costar alongside everybody as the socially awkward yet competitive brother.


	16. Duck, Duck

"I don't see it."

Lance throws his hands up, letting out a groan. "Of course. Come on, Pidge, you see it. You're not old like Shiro. It makes sense!"

Pidge just looks down from her spot on Hunk's shoulders. She's arm-deep in wires and circuitry, a wire-stripper in her right hand. Hunk looks up at her and almost makes her fall when he shrugs. She hits him on the shoulder.

"See what?" Pidge asks, like she hadn't almost just fallen to her doom. "Can you pass me a pair of pliers?"

Lance obliges. "We're totally piloting a megazord."

It's the first time in a week or so that everything feels normal enough to have a conversation like this. Ever since the Poker night, for the most part the team's been relaxing and coming to terms with... everything. Mostly Lance, but somehow he can tell that everyone's been coming down off this high edge that he hadn't noticed before. Not like he's got all the answers he wishes he had, or that the team has all of the intel on what actually happened on the Galra ship, but this is a cooldown lap. Nobody's running anymore.

Or maybe they are, but they're taking a water break. Hanging out by the side of the metaphorical road, under the trees, piled on top of green grass...

Oh, wow. Hey, homesickness, Lance missed you. Too bad that he's not gonna go home any time soon, Lance thinks as he scratches his arm, claws catching his gloves. He tries not to look and ends up pulling some fur under his jacket uncomfortably when he stops.

"What, like from that Action Rangers thing?" Hunk asks, though he knows what Power Rangers are. As if Lance would let his best pal escape this world unscathed by _power rangers_. "The dinosaur robots?"

"We pilot lions," Shiro remains adamant from where he's sitting at a nearby table. Lance takes the seat across from him. Shiro, as per usual, is still in his armor. Everyone else is in comfort-clothing. Except Lance. Lance is wearing a jacket and gloves indoors on top of an entire coat of fur and he's usually okay with warm weather but he might be dying a little bit. Just on the inside. "Not dinosaurs. We don't even wear spandex!"

"We are color-coded," Pidge offers up, and Lance internally cheers because he totally knew she had to be a Rangers fan. "But if I had to be a ranger, I'd want to be the yellow one. Not the green."

"Wait," Hunk interjects, "If you're the yellow ranger, then what does that make me?"

"I can't believe this."

"I'm blue," Lance calls automatically. "Hey, Shiro, you can be the red ranger. He's the leader."

"But I pilot the black lion!" Shiro argues.

"What, you think we're gonna let Keith be the leader of the Voltron rangers just because he's red? No way," Lance refutes, drawing up his lip. He forgets for a moment that instead of a normal sneer, he's showing off at least four very sharp teeth. "Mullethead is no leader."

"Don't call Keith Mullethead," Shiro says, like a reflex.

"Whatever, dad," Lance replies. ...then he just rolls on and hopes that nobody noticed that that was more serious than sarcastic.

"He's right. Allura's leader anyway, but I say she pilots the black lion if anything happens to Shiro," Hunk adds in. "Keith's a little..."

The door hisses open, but Hunk goes on. He didn't hear, but Lance did, his ears tipped slightly towards the door. He gives Hunk the 'no-go-bro, stop' sign with his hands. Hunk is too busy balancing Pidge to notice.

"High strung," Hunk evens himself out with. "...he's right behind me, isn't he?"

"Yep," Shiro says dryly. Keith just stands there, eyes halflidded. He takes his own chair next to Shiro.

"You okay, Shiro?" Keith asks, and Lance resists the urge to collapse melodramatically to the floor. It's a very strong urge. Lance's parents would be proud of the way they raised their boy right.

"I'm fine. Is something wrong, Keith?"

Keith looks from Lance to Shiro and then shrugs. "No. Doesn't look like it."

Lance's urge to collapse is sort of morphing into an urge to push Keith. But Lance is a mature adult. He's not about to do that.

"Real subtle," Lance hisses through his teeth, still disturbed by how much it feels like an actual hiss. "Look, Keith, we're on the same team. If you've got a problem with me, just say it."

"Lance-"

"No. Look, no. I just spent a- a long time away from here," Lance stutters over the middle of the sentence. "It's been a week. I get it, it takes time to adjust and maybe there's still something wrong with me, but I can't take it. We have our first Voltron session in... what, months? Tomorrow. And I can't combine with a guy who hates my guts just because I got tor-" Lance changes course. No chance, no way, won't say that. "Captured."

"That's not what I-"

"Save it, man!" Lance spits at him. "You totally have a problem. If you didn't, you wouldn't keep following Shiro around and asking him if he's okay only when I'm in the room! Newsflash, Mullet, I know nothing's okay! Nothing's gonna _be_ okay!"

Keith is just looking at him. He's been stunned into silence. It occurs now to Lance that he may have been yelling. Really loudly. And that his ears are pressed to the back of his head.

The cherry on top is the snarl that punctuated the word 'okay' in that last sentence, to Lance.

Hunk and Pidge are silent. All four of them are staring. Shiro's gripping the table with his human hand. If he wasn't wearing gloves too, Lance has no doubt that he'd see Shiro's white knuckles. Quiznak, Lance thinks, his hands starting to tremble. He clenches them.

This isn't like him. Not like Lance. Lance is a joker, determined, happy-go-lucky, sometimes a total fool. Knows when to get down to business, push away bad feelings to complete important missions. This isn't like Lance. Because all of those bad feelings that have been around all week, the guilt he's been feeling at just _being_ a purple spacecat _thing_ is all getting rubberbanded together with a need to blame someone and a feeling of anger at himself.

Lance shouldn't be like this. He should be human, and everyone should be okay, and they should be laughing at the fact that Keith would make an awful Red Ranger and that Coran was most likely the closest thing they had to Alpha 5.

"Uh- I mean-" There is no way out of this pit. It is a deep, dark pit and Lance is still firmly gripping his shovel because apparently, he's determined to dig. "Look, I just... can you be honest? With me. I get it, if I'm too hard to be around. But trying to act like you're not walking on eggshells isn't gonna work. No para mí."

They're all quiet for a minute. And Lance feels like he should leave, because he's purple and that is not a voltron OR power ranger color. He just... doesn't belong any more. Did the galra just stop him from belonging? Is he never going to feel like he's at home again, just because of... this?"

"...Lance?" Keith asks.

Lance doesn't look up. He's looking at the floor.

"Are you okay?" The red lion's pilot asks. Lance's head whips up. Shiro's also turned to face Keith completely. He looks surprised, but proud. Lance sputters.

"What kind of question is- Like, I go on a big, drama king freakout, and-! You know what?" Lance asks, feeling a little bit hysterical. "I'm _peachy_." Lance had been expecting more accusations. For silence until he fled the room to go hide somewhere. He hadn't been expecting that.

Somehow behind them, Pidge has gotten off of Hunk's shoulders. The two are sidling up behind Lance. He can pick out their steps easily. Hunk's hand is suddenly on top of Lance's head.

"Really?" Pidge asks. "That's the word you're going with?"

Lance blinks. Hunk messes up his hair.

"You've got a better one?" He asks weakly. Pidge snorts.

"How about the classic 'fine'?"

"Radical?" Hunk offers, his hand now carding through purple hair.

"Decent," Shiro states.

"Good," Keith tags in.

Yeah, Lance thinks to himself. Those are pretty good words. Better than peachy.

"Look, Lance," Keith starts again. "I'm gonna be suspicious. Not at you. It's at the galra. I just... I want to keep everyone safe. And I'm not good with people."

The unspoken point that Lance is still a potential liability makes Lance want to shrink. But he can't say it's wrong, or anything. Lance feels like a liability.

"But you're my teammate. I should be straightforward." Keith nods at him. "Sorry."

Shiro is practically burning with surrogate fatherly pride. His small smile is just packed with it. "I think we could all stand to be more straightforward."

Shiro turns his head and looks straight at Lance. "This affects everyone, especially you. Lance, if you feel like you're broken or something, you're not." He echoes Keith. "It's the galra." Shiro holds up his robotic hand. Lance holds up his own. He gets this urge and pulls off his glove.

Shiro and Lance high-five with hands that have been through galra hell.

"It's not me," Lance repeats to himself. Shiro nods. Hunk is now attempting to lift Pidge back up to the ceiling. Keith looks unsure of himself, now that he's showed concern for his fellow man.

Pidge goes back to tinkering. Hunk occasionally asks her a question. Lance lapses into silence.

"...hey, what ranger would Keith be if he can't be red?" Hunk asks Lance.

Lance thinks about it.

"Green?"

Keith lets out an undignified sound and then immediately denies that he could ever be the traitor ranger, which causes Shiro to ask how Keith knows about Power Rangers and Lance to nearly hurt something laughing at the fact that Keith is totally the green ranger.

* * *

AN: Updates might slow down a teensy bit, just because life. I've reclaimed my writing motivation and trapped it in a small box! As usual, thank you for your reviews and suggestions. I'm definitely taking into consideration your feedback, because it's good stuff. To actiongirl, great sketch! It's super cool. Next chapter, more good things! Possibly more sentai references? Til' then!


	17. Goose

The day they have their first Voltron session since the big rescue starts badly. Lance wakes up sweaty on top of his blankets, because he can't sleep under them without overheating. He also wakes up at least three hours ahead of schedule, because something claws at the back of his mind and fills him with wordless terror. His sheets have gouges in them. Lance woke up not knowing where he was, breathlessly scared of a nightmare he couldn't remember. And that thing in the back of his head just tightened up, held on.

Massive headache. Ruined sheets. Sweaty fur. His whitenoise headphones don't fit over his ears anymore, and his sleeping mask somehow ended up halfway down his face over his nose.

"Seriously?" Lance mutters to himself. The sleeping mask is discarded.

He hates smelling like sweat, so he tries to take a quick shower. Lance forgets that apparently for galra there is no such thing. It takes him the better part of an hour, and then fifteen minutes in the drying pod to look presentable. And that's excluding the effort he had to put in with his old hairbrush to get himself to lie flat. Lance finds himself almost glad he hadn't been able to get back to sleep. Maybe, if he didn't do any trimming, he could make it to breakfast early.

...who was Lance kidding. He couldn't stand for uneven hair or split ends. It would be a tragedy to women everywhere if the stud he was didn't look his best.

He took a little too much off the left side. He wasn't used to having to coordinate his hair length with his fur length.

It has to be obvious, Lance thinks as he strolls into the dining room, scratching at that spot. His steps are basically silent, but he can't help the excited sound he lets out when he sees the spread. _No food goo._ There's something that he thinks looks like spam, and maybe a striped potato mash. Lance doesn't particularly like spam, but anything is more welcome for breakfast than food goo. Lance really wants something he can sink his teeth into. His stomach growls thinking about it.

Hunk is already at the end, some kind of bread piled with a mix of what he's made and some food goo, like a chimera of french toast and regular toast piled with potato. Lance slides into a chair next to him, humming to himself. Hunk glances over at him, but hey, there's food and Lance is clean and the dregs of his nightmare are wasting away. Lance is totally good.

The hum in his throat keeps going, even as he piles food onto his own slice of toast. "Morning, Hunk," he offers. "Hey, Pidge. Why is Keith on the ground?"

That last part is in a more confused tone of voice. It would be weird if it wasn't. But he'd known when he walked in- he could hear more than two people and he'd caught a flash of red under the table.

"He dropped his toast, went down to pick it up," she answers, just having the spam-stuff and a mug of what Lance suspects is coffee.

"...and he's still down there, why?"

"He cracked his head on the underside of the table."

A moan rises up from under the platter of breakfast.

"I tried to get him out, but he goes boneless," Hunk offered. "We figured we'd wait it out."

Lance can't argue with that. Makes sense to him. Ooh, more food. Specifically, meat-based food. He's eating that. "When's the Voltron session?"

"Whenever Shiro and Allura are done sparring," Pidge pipes in, taking a drink of what Lance can now smell is most definitely coffee. How the hell did Pidge get coffee in space? "Should be after we're done eating. They finished first."

"Mom and dad having a grownup discussion," Hunk jokes. "Man, you really like protein packs, Lance."

"Hungry," he offers as an explanation, eating more. Lance is very glad that this isn't like the first Voltron session where they all ended up handcuffed to each other. Lance... he's not so good with cuffs, now. Bad memories.

They keep eating for a little bit, and eventually Keith resurfaces with a goose egg right in the middle of his forehead. His eyes have dark bags under them, which probably explains how Keith ended up hitting himself to begin with. When you're tired, you misjudge distance.

Huh. Maybe Lance should've waited until after breakfast to trim, then. He wouldn't have taken the wrong amount off the side.

Keith doesn't offer an explanation. He just takes his seat like nothing happened and he wasn't just lying under the table holding his head in pain.

Not too long after, Allura and Shiro come in. For a couple of people who left early to 'spar', neither smells much like someone who's been exercising. But they are wearing their armor, so.

Paladin armor. Good memories, bad memories. That bundle of fear in his mind latches on to paladin armor and Lance thinks of robots.

He nods when Shiro and Allura talk about syncing up again. He tries not to think about being told to shoot them, even if it was just robot-them and Shiro and Allura hadn't had robots that looked like them. They're not even sparring. They're just going to try and form Voltron. Mentally.

Lance gets a new set of armor. His old one was pretty much destroyed. Too bad the same can't be said of the Galra shirt, which despite Lance's best efforts when he actually gathered up the courage to use his claws instead of being freaked out by them, _wouldn't shred_. That just took the satisfaction out of it.

After he finally pulls his chestplate on and heads to the common room, Lance pauses. Should he put on the helmet? Might freak people out less. But they never wore their helmets during these sessions before, because the headsets took up a lot of space.

Whatever, he thinks, taking his usual spot next to Hunk. It's fine.

"Alright, Paladins, you know the drill," Allura says, folding her hands together. "Combine your minds. Picture Voltron, and being Voltron together. Let your worries fall away and come together to form something that is more than any of you alone."

They spend fifteen minutes 'meditating', but Lance is really thinking about breakfast. Helmets. His uneven haircut. Robots. That odd thing at the back of his head that won't let him relax. The fact that Keith hit his head. Lance's mind is not quiet and surprisingly, Lance likes it that way. If it's loud in his head, he doesn't have to listen to himself.

Picture Blue, Lance thinks, trying to focus through his protective noise. Mulletbot with a sword. Lance hits the robot. Shoves Allura away with his bayard. Eats something that is totally space-spam for breakfast and plots to steal some of Pidge's precious illegal coffee. "Blue."

His eyes are closed, so Lance only hears the rustle of armor as the team turns to look at him. He opens one eye. "Uh, trying to focus."

"Then just pick something to focus on," Keith tells him, eyebrows drawn. His own mind is so neat and tidy Lance kind of wants to hit something. Maybe a pillow.

"Yeah, that buzz has to make it harder," Hunk offers. Hunk is focused on caring, about Shay, the team, Lance, the Earth. His leg is coming along fine, all things considered.

"It's making it harder for me," Pidge mutters, her eyebrows drawn together. Her mind is noisy, too. But rather than being a symphony of distractions, her brain is a hive of ideas. She's focused on just one, and the green lion is halfway to being an arm. "Sorry."

"Stole my line," he says out loud, and he tries to focus again. Maybe he can just put up a wall, a little blockade. And that'll let him get back to Blue.

What is most important right now? Forming Voltron. Trust. Not thinking about the galra. Or himself. Or both. He has to keep everything to himself. Otherwise they'll never form Voltron. Lance just doesn't want any part of his team there, in that cell. Lance couldn't handle it. It would be like they had been taken too and he can't handle that.

The buzz gets louder and the hologram of Blue he was trying so hard to hold falls apart.

Lance swears. Long and spanish. One of the swears that would make his Abuelita blush. He's suddenly frustrated, at himself and the galra and the fact that everyone seems to be fine but him.

His mind hurts. It's a physical pain and yet also an emotional one.

And then he feels the scratch.

Hunk is attempting to push past Lance protecting them from his memories of the galra.

"Hey!" Lance hits his shoulder. "Don't. We're just forming Voltron, stop digging around."

"You can dig in my head if you want," Hunk promises. "But I'm not letting you take all of this. We're a team."

Shiro is deep in his own meditation. He's formed the black lion, which is already a torso. One of Shiro's eyes open.

Hunk pulls a little bit. Lance loses his grip and noise pours out of that hole in his mind. What's left is silence and the fact that Lance hates himself a little bit. It echoes loud without the noise to cover it up.

Shiro's Black Lion torso breaks.

Hunk loses grip on his leg.

Pidge keeps her arm, but swivels and looks shocked.

Keith's red lion hisses in his face.

...what's the matter, Lance thinks. He doesn't put it together. Buzz builds back up.

Shiro starts to shake, his teeth start to grit. Lance looks further into his teammates, and he sees-

Himself. They're seeing his memories. They're feeling them. They're horrified and worried and Shiro is remembering his own time with the galra and looking at his robotic hand like it might shed and grow claws at any second-

They're in his head, and they're trapped by the Galra, too.

Lance can't help the sound that escapes him. He chokes. The buzz in his mind goes utterly quiet.

 _Can't stand this, can't stand the claws or the fur or the eyes or myself-_

 _I hate-_

 _I wish-_

 _I'm glad it was me but I wish they'd found another paladin._ _ **I'm the enemy**_ _._

Lance tears off his headset and runs. He forgets about Shiro, pale and sweaty on the floor. He forgets about the look Hunk gives him as he shouts for Lance to come back, forgets how he pushes Keith away, how Pidge tries to get him to come back. He forgets Allura's concerned look.

He runs and buries himself in blankets and tries to shred the Galra shirt again.

The day of the first Voltron session doesn't end well, either.

* * *

AN: ...well. Gotta have rain sometimes, am I right? Can't expect to run before you walk. They'll work this out.

As per usual, thank you for your reviews and feedback! They're appreciated and delicious, just like stolen space coffee. Til' next time!


	18. Red Light

They all resolve to try again. Of course they do, because they're Team Voltron and something like this isn't going to beat them. But finding a way to try again is harder than just doing it the first time, because now Lance knows exactly what's in his head and so do they. And he knows they want to help, but it's terrifying. He doesn't know why, but knowing that they know exactly what's wrong and they want to help makes his heart seize. His face flushes under his fur and Lance just wants to deny that anything is wrong and go back to sweeping little bits of burned shirt into the trash chute so he can watch it get ejected into space.

Yeah, sometime in the week between the first Voltron session and the second, he manages to burn the shirt. It's simultaneously satisfying and disappointing, which is a weird feeling. But Lance is never going to get the smoke-smell off, he thinks. He smells like everything he comes into contact with, at least to him.

Shiro confronts him in the hallway as he tries to push half-burned fabric and half-burned gloves into the chute. Lance hears him before he speaks up, because Shiro has heavy footsteps. Seems that way to Lance, whose ears just keep getting better.

Shiro puts a hand on Lance's shoulder. Lance is wearing casual clothes now, but he still smells the smoke. And metal. And quintessence lightning.

"We need to talk," Shiro tells him, and it's not like Lance disagrees. Of course they need to talk. But sometimes actually saying anything important is harder than it should be because whoever designed human emotions was probably drunk when they came up with coping mechanisms. "Just you and me."

"Are you okay?" Lance says, and he immediately regrets it. It was just the first thing that came to mind, given how much Keith had been asking Shiro the same thing.

Shiro sighs and crosses his arms. "...no. But neither are you."

Lance shuts up. Wow, Shiro. Succinct. He opens his mouth but Shiro butts in again.

"We've both got reasons to be. We've lost important things, and you don't get away from the galra unscathed. It... Even I haven't come to terms with it, the fact that it doesn't get any better. It just gets less vivid, more muddled."

To Lance, it's still vivid. He has nightmares and he has to check what clothes he's wearing when he wakes up to make sure he's not back there.

"But just because it doesn't get better doesn't mean we can't get better."

Lance's head snaps up and he snorts, because that's the worst oxymoron he's ever heard. How can you not get better, but get better anyway?

"I'll explain," Shiro takes a seat in the hallway, and gestures for Lance to sit down next to him. He holds up his right hand. "They took my arm and made a weapon because I made them think I was a weapon, so the other people I cared about wouldn't get thrown to the wolves. That doesn't get better. My arm's gone, and I can't forget how they took it."

Lance nods. He feels everything in this monologue on a spiritual level. They took Lance's face and made him bait. Even now, Lance doesn't feel completely human. He can't forget the lightning.

"But," Shiro holds up a finger, holds up his robotic arm, "I am not a weapon."

Lance's ears twitch. Shiro notices and his flesh hand grips his robotic arm's wrist.

"This is a weapon. But I'm myself. They made my arm, but I make myself. Sometimes I might fall back into that hole, feel like I'm still something they made. But I'm not. We can always come back to ourselves, Lance. And that's how we get better. Eventually, you fall less. You remember when you used to fall and you take that feeling and you use it to move forward."

"We make ourselves," Lance repeats. Paraphrases, but that's beside the point.

Shiro nods.

"As long as I feel like I'm done because they got their claws into me," Lance says aloud, "I'm done. But I'm not. Because even if they tried to make me into an example, a prisoner..."

"You're yourself. We have to remind ourselves that, or they get what they want."

Lance pulls off a glove and looks at his hand. Short, purple fur. Sharp, purple claws. Scuff marks. Ruffled glove fur.

It's still the right size. Still the right shape.

"And they want us," Lance concludes. "But they won't get us."

"It doesn't get better," Shiro says, a warning this time. "But we get better. And that makes it weaker."

"Shiro?"

Shiro turns his head, tilts it.

"I'm sorry."

Shiro furrows his brow.

"I went out of formation. We broke Voltron, and instead of going straight back I wanted to take out one more straggler before Keith could. Just to prove something that didn't even matter. That's how they got me. I couldn't get free, I barely managed half an escape, I can't sleep..."

Lance buries his face in his hands. His claws nick his forehead because he isn't careful.

"It was my fault. All of it was my fault. I-"

Shiro's cold hand rests on his shoulders. Lance is pulled forward. It takes half a second, and Lance doesn't even know what's happening. His yellow eyes are wide as he looks, dumbfounded, over Shiro's shoulder.

Oh. Another hug.

Man, some detached part of Lance's brain thinks. It has to be the weirdest thing, to see Team Leader Shiro hugging a scrawny galra in a long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans.

Slowly, Lance's hands raise. He wraps them around Shiro, because this is a hug and hugs are meant to be a two-part thing. He's careful, resists the urge to ball his hands up to hide his claws. Shiro's wearing armor. For a second, the two sit and share a moment. Just a moment, because while it has to look weird, for Shiro it has to be hard to hug the enemy. Despite the fact that Lance isn't the enemy. Whatever. Lance can hear Shiro's heartbeat fast in his ears.

They break apart.

"It wasn't your fault," Shiro insists. His robotic arm stays on Lance's shoulder. "It wasn't my fault. You're not a galra, and I'm not a weapon. We're what we make ourselves."

"You're not a weapon, I'm not a galra," Lance mutters. "I just- I don't know-"

Shiro nods. Because he's been through the same. Even nowadays, sometimes he gets lost because while he's getting better, the situation he's gone through never does.

Lance sighs. Lance gathers his courage.

Lance rolls up one sleeve all the way.

Galran runes stretch across his bicep, across his arm like a band. No fur grew over them. The skin underneath his fur is a slightly lighter scarred-up purple. Shiro knows about these. They saw them, they all did, in Lance's memories when the floodgate broke and everything seemed to go wrong. But to reveal it like this, to pull up his arm and show that yes, not only did the galra use him like a guinea pig, they signed their work too- That's something different.

That's Lance, saying 'screw you' to the galra one more time and 'quiznak, please don't be disgusted' to someone he counts as his extended familia.

Shiro's face changes. It's not pity, and it's not disgust. It's slow-burning rage, the kind that crawls across Shiro's face and says 'this should never have happened and I'm more fucking pissed than I started out before this'.

Shiro's hand tightens its grip. "Bastards," Shiro mutters. He actually says it in Japanese, but whatever babel fish Allura gave them translates it automatically.

"Yeah," Lance agrees. "They're real hijos de puta."

Eventually, they get up and go back to the common room. But for a little while, they talk; just more of the same reassurances that they both really need.

* * *

AN: Here comes a thought... I just really felt the need for the two of them to talk. There's sort of an element of learning something important and fighting back that should help when they try to form Voltron. Space dad might not be entirely on the mark here since he doesn't have formal training about PTSD, but he's talking personally and it does help Lance figure himself out. Which is the important thing.

Thank you for your reviews! Glad to hear the angst is up to snuff. More to come- 'til then!


	19. Green Light

This time, Lance warns everyone before they attempt to virtually form Voltron. He lets them know that his head might not be quiet, that he's going to try and focus and hold back, and that this is gonna work for sure this time.

Everyone reacted differently to the galra runes on him. After Shiro's reaction, he figured that they were something his teammates needed to know about. He only had to roll up a sleeve and explain, though Allura and Coran had asked him to take off the entire shirt so they could record and decode the runes. Said it would help to figure out how the galra did what they did.

"All you had to do was ask," Lance had replied to Allura, winking. The gesture was so Lance that Lance is pretty sure she forgot for a second that the whole thing was serious and tense. She gently hit him on the arm and then asked him to lie still. Lance had complied, of course. He was sort of serious about that wink (Not that he had a chance or expected one). The scans had tingled like crazy. Other than that, with Allura and Coran close by it was different enough from the galra's medical tables that Lance hadn't freaked out once.

Hunk and Pidge were sympathetic. Keith got angry. And Lance, after everyone finally knew and they were finally getting to the bottom of what the galra had been testing... he felt relieved.

Really relieved.

But now, he doesn't feel relieved. He feels like he's headed back towards a high cliff with no guard rail. Lance doesn't want that buzz in his head to come pouring out. He couldn't stand to have them in those memories. Lance wants to be a good guy, the one who shoots out a galra commander after being half-passed out every single time. But, Lance thinks, you can't always be that good guy. Sometimes you're completely awake, there's nobody to shoot, and everyone else is taking your metaphorical bullets.

"Lance," Shiro shuts him down with a single word.

"It's fine. We're all ready. We jumped into it that first time; nobody was used to anything," Hunk convinces Lance, his hand on Lance's shoulder. This time, they're all in civilian clothes. Except Shiro, who really needs an actual wardrobe beyond 'black and probably military-style EVERYWHERE'. They all put on their ridiculous Voltron sync headsets. Keith gives a tentative thumbs-up. That's applause-worthy, right there. It looks so awkward that it's almost physically painful.

Lance takes pity and flashes his own thumbs-up. They are teammates, after all.

"If you think it's gonna get bad, let us know if you want us to disconnect. The mental feedback from all of the sets makes the emotions and memories stronger. It's what allows Voltron to connect and fight so cohesively normally," Pidge tells everyone, sitting with her legs folded under her. "I did some research. Allura let me into the archives."

"Of course," Allura says primly. "You're all allowed into the archives having to do with the Voltron Lions and their histories. That goes without question- though, if you would like to do other research, finding me would be for the best."

Don't mess up the alien technolibrary. Got it, Lance thinks. He slides on his headset. Maybe... they had galra fur drying pods in the castle. Maybe they'll have information on galra in general. It could be helpful to know, like if Lance gets sick and human medical know-how doesn't cut it.

"That's a good idea," Hunk exclaims, and Lance realizes he just thought that pretty loudly. But they're not forming anything yet. It's good, as long as he keeps his head inside of his head when they're all linked up. It's good. All systems are go, lights are flickering green.

Lance is what he makes himself. So he's not making himself a victim anymore. Voltron is going to kick Emperor Zarkon's ass across the galaxy and it's going to be so cool that aliens are going to make MOVIES about it. Novels. Songs. Long epics with tons of pictures and Lance's face smack-dab in the middle of a spread with him posing triumphantly over a pile of galra.

Hunk snickers, and the mental picture suddenly grows a mustache.

Man, is nothing sacred? Lance rolls his eyes and clenches his hands a little tighter. Because he's not nervous about forming Voltron again with his teammates. It's not freaking him out because he might mess up again. He's certainly not on edge because the galra are purple jerks with dumb-looking ears. Lance McClain is fine.

"We're starting now," Allura calls, and she takes a seat with the rest of them. But she doesn't get a headset. Royalty does what it wants. "So remember- clear your mind and trust your teammates. I'm certain that this round will go much, much better. Voltron is a tight bond formed by care and loyalty and the drive to protect what is dear to you. To protect each other."

Lance closes his eyes. He fidgets, because staying still during these things isn't as easy as he usually finds it. His heart's a little too fast for comfort. Lance can hear the buzz of the lights, the woosh of air cycling through the room. Focusing on Voltron focuses his senses and makes them harder to dampen.

The buzz in his head, that constant hate and fear, that's still there. But beyond him, there's a sense of security. Tentativeness. Exasperation. Patience. Energy. So Lance drags up his mental image of Blue and gives her a poke. It's time to let go of the buzz and make a blue leg.

He breathes in. Next to him, he hears Hunk take one in tandem. They're both legs. Sturdy. Lame word. They're both legs, they're... tough. Tough legs.

Lance is what he makes himself. He is human, and he is not afraid of his teammates. He is not afraid of the galra. He wants to defeat the Empire. Vrepit Sa. It's okay to remember. Sometimes you have to. It doesn't get better, but you do, and eventually carrying it around makes you stronger instead of keeping you tired.

Lance is a paladin. Blue's legs curl in. Her torso shifts. Her head tucks under. Servos whir and click together in his mind as he breathes, in and out, the buzz at the back of his mind still there but he can block it off. His hands knead at his legs, fingers curling in and out of fists. Breathe in. More connections. Another twist of metal. Another part clicking into place.

Beside him, Hunk's leg is done. Hunk's mind is organized, friendly. Like a little house with a fireplace and too many filing cabinets. Lance doesn't stop to pry.

Pidge is further away, but her arm was done awhile before the legs assembled. He can feel her mind, noise present as ever. It's weak, but he knows she's already connected to Shiro. Keith is too. Keith is surprisingly good at focusing like this. Makes Lance jealous. Maybe they'd be better friends if Lance didn't want to beat Keith at something so badly. Not that they're bad friends or anything- Lance thinks that Keith is making his way up the Lance-Thinks-You're-Alright ladder at a decent pace. He's no Hunk or Pidge, but nobody's Hunk or Pidge but Hunk and Pidge.

There's Shiro. Right in the middle. Lance's mental leg almost stutters. He doesn't want to make Shiro break down. The connection is strongest when they're all connected. Whether Lance likes it or not, when he joins his fake leg to fake Voltron, his memories will trickle out to be put on parade. No matter how hard he tries to get rid of the noise. As long is it's there, they'll hear it.

Shiro mentally pulls, a gentle reminder about what they talked about before. Shiro's no weakling. He can handle this. He's been handling it for longer than you think.

Lance has to trust them. Even harder, Lance has to trust himself. That part's the tough part.

Trust. Breathe. You can form Voltron. What, like it's hard?

Lance's leg moves towards Voltron. Hunk's way ahead of him.

Everyone's together. Lance is pretty close, but he could still back out. It's okay, he doesn't have to do this today. It's hard, it's always gonna be hard until Lance figures himself out and stops being scared. ...Lance isn't scared, he reminds himself.

Lance is a Paladin. And yeah, he's got a lot of baggage and his head hurts like a son of quiznak because he's trying so hard to keep focused and his brain quiet, but he's part of Voltron.

Lance's leg fits into place. The connectors seal up, punch together, cables and wires braid together muscle strands and nerves that Voltron needs to keep balance and stand.

...what is that feeling?

What is that thing that Lance is feeling, Lance wonders. It's all around him because he's connected to it, but nobody's overpowering anybody else. There's a sense of quiet sharing, of belonging. That buzz in his head? Almost totally gone. It's like Hunk's got it once, then it's on to Keith, then Shiro passes it to Pidge, and by the time it gets back to Lance it's covered in mental post-its and handwritten notes. Because the buzz needs an editor. It's basically entirely wrong about Lance, because while the galra are totally shitty, Lance is a friend. Lance isn't an enemy or a galra. Lance is worthwhile, and so is Voltron.

For a while, they stay together. And Lance knows what he's feeling. It's that they're together. They're Voltron. Dios, it's the best feeling to be Voltron. There's a bond, there. Lance can't imagine breaking it right now, not at all. Not being Voltron again would suck royally.

There's... buzz again. But it's not Lance's, this time. It doesn't feel like him.

It's Shiro's, Lance realizes. Shiro's brain buzzes, too. There's Hunk-buzz, and Pidge-buzz, and even Keith. Everyone's got ugly parts of themselves, or at least parts they think are ugly. Things that drag them down, that keep them trapped in their heads for little periods of time. It's normal.

Lance pulls the cap off of a mental sharpie and starts scrawling across bad thoughts and feelings. No, Hunk, caring is a great thing. You're great and you're the one who went back for the Balmera. You were the one who knew. Shiro, you took out dozens of galra, and came back to warn Earth. You were there for people who needed you no matter what. Keith, social stuff comes with practice. You're not heartless. It's just hard to get people right, we got you. Pidge, you're no liar. You care, and you care hard, and you fight.

We're Voltron, he writes across his own buzz.

We're Voltron, gets echoed back.

And suddenly, that vague connection is deeper. More profound. All of them almost feel dizzy. A little sick, only to one stomach out of five. Voltron raises their hand, rubs their head. _Should he stand? Would he fall?_

 _Clumsily, the blue leg takes the first step. Voltron pushes off, his arms braced. It's been a while since Voltron was himself instead of just his paladins and his lionesses, but-_

 _(what's going on)_

 **(Allura? Allura-)**

(We just connected hard, and now-)

 _Voltron doesn't have a body. He isn't made up of his lionesses. He's made up of minds and an Altean signal booster that carries the magic of the lions into the air. He looks at one hand._

 _Pale, slender, thick with callus, metal, purple tipped with purple claws. Five sets of eyes instead of one set of optics. Small memories that seem to matter so much._

 _ **(Break it up, if you can! I can disconnect the booster, but you need to tell Voltron to dissemble yourselves. Father always said that Voltron works best with the respect of his parts-)**_

 _He feels a memory. And another. Little things tossed from his pilots like pebbles at a mountain. The exercise is over._

 _Voltron acquiesces. They are him, they are his lionesses, they are his pilots. They're all very much the same._

Mental Voltron falls apart.

And the humans who all connected together, who finally stood on equal ground and realized each other for the first time in months... They fall too. Because when Voltron had stood, so had they. Like an echo, a movement in five bodies.

Oh, quiznak. Lance's head hurts. Falling onto metal is never, ever recommended.

He blinks.

And at the exact same time, five voices all say 'Holy crap' in differing affectations of surprise, fear, and utter excitement.

"This is new," Shiro mumbles, tipping forward and sitting tall.

Allura nods. This is in fact new. Not to her, probably, but definitely to them. Voltron's mental voice sounds _exactly_ like Mufasa.

* * *

AN: Look! Plot! I swear, I meant it that way. I really like how this worked out, though. It just sounds good. Hope you guys like it! Thanks for your reviews, even though the chapters are a bit further apart.

'Til next time!


	20. Twenty Questions

"We have to do that again," Lance burbles, excited. He thinks he's excited. He's got this edgy, roiling feeling in his stomach and hoo, boy, if that isn't excitement it is one hell of a sense of dread. "We're gonna do that again. Right? Right? Because if we don't do that again, I call quiznak. That was amazing."

"It was _dangerous_ is what it was," Keith points out. They're at a table now. All of them. Their headsets are in the middle of the table. "Blinking out like that? In the middle of a firefight, that could get us killed."

Hunk makes a dodgy sound in the back of his throat. Keith glances over at him through the corner of his eye and Hunk shrugs, speaking up. "Voltron is supposed to be a legend. Maybe this is just... the next step in how we're supposed to link with Voltron."

Allura drums one finger against the table, her eyebrows knit together. She looks stressed, and Lance can't blame her. In the sheer amount of crap that has happened in the past... what, four months? Five? Lance can't remember. He was out of commission for a lot of it. But for the past really-long-time-in-space, she's been re-awakened from a semi-permanent slumber, rescued people and planets from the grasp of the Galra, been under near-constant attack, and had one of her paladins captured as well as... tortured, and when they found him he looked like the enemy and had a whole slew of issues.

And to top it all off, Lance thought, that slew of issues drove the group through the mental fire and flames and what came out was... a giant robot with its own personality.

All things that made no sense. All things that meant anyone in a leadership position would have to be thinking all the time, delegating and cooperating and trying not to let thousands of years of 'The Galra are filthy purple traitors and tyrants' color the perception of someone who never even asked for it.

Madre de Dios, Lance hoped something like this never happened again. Not that it wouldn't- for some reason, Voltron drew weird like... something big that magnetically attracted weird. A weird magnet. Voltron was a weird magnet. Sometimes that was good, in the case of the Balmera, sometimes that was bad. Like in the case of Zarkon. And evil alien catpeople.

And Lance _being_ an evil alien catpeople.

"My father would have told me of this," Allura mutters. "It would have been with his records of the Lions' upkeep. In the paladins' records! But it simply wasn't."

Coran, unlike his usual self, is neither cheerful or dandy. He's almost pointedly trying to look everywhere but Allura.

"Maybe they didn't record it," Keith suggests. Pidge shakes her head.

"Maybe," Pidge says, "They deleted the information."

"Why would they do that?" Lance demands. "This is- we became a giant robot! Voltron! We didn't _form_ Voltron, we _became_ Voltron! It was amazing, it was great, I felt better than I have in _weeks_ -!"

At some point while he was talking, Lance got up. He started gesturing wildly. His hands are still in the air, hung there, fingers splayed. And now he's frozen, because despite the fact that they were all in the same mental kiddie pool earlier, Lance now feels like he's just peed in it.

It's not about Lance. None of this is about Lance, this is about _Voltron_.

"You. Uh. You all felt it, right?" He asks, looking away. Lance tucks his arms back, settling into his claimed chair. Props himself up on the table. "Better than you have in a while. Not just me."

Nobody answers him. Pidge continues her thought.

"Say you had a giant, highly advanced superweapon," She elaborates. "And someone figured out that in order for the advanced superweapon to function at full capacity, you need five paladins capable of connecting. Deeply. I mean, we drove with the lions before and directed Voltron, but there's a big difference between remote controlling a fine-motor bipedal operating system and embodying that system."

Lance tries to sink into his seat.

"This might be endgame. Maybe Voltron's strongest when Voltron's the one behind the wheel, not the paladins, all of us who have to deliberate and give reports on each section before we take action. But if someone knew about that, about that connection... Well, let's just say that if I programmed a laser that absolutely needed five power cells to cohesively function, the way I'd stop it in a pinch would be-"

"Remove a power cell. No laser," Shiro finishes for her. "But I don't understand. We need five power cells anyway. Why would it matter if it was concrete information that you needed all five?"

Lance doesn't get it.

Keith does. "Pidge, do you mean to fire the laser, you need those _specific_ five cells?"

Pidge... Pidge nods.

Coran heaves a sigh. Allura looks at him, her eyes stricken.

"If any of those cells burn out," Keith thinks out loud, "You can't replace it. The laser won't fire again unless all five cells are replaced with new ones."

Lance's ears are pinned to the back of his head. He can hear his blood thrumming. That excitement from earlier, that might-be-dread stuff? It's dread. Loud and clear. Dread.

"Coran?" Allura turns to him. "You would know. My father trusted you implicitly."

Coran toys with the end of his mustache.

"Not quite," Coran finally says. "Not exactly, Princess."

"But it is similar," Shiro presses.

Coran hunches forwards, his fingers lashed together. He rests his chin on them. "In a base sense, yes. Voltron's most powerful form is when Voltron himself is, as you have surmised, himself. Voltron knows his full capabilities and how to use them. He can call upon his paladins' minds to understand what to do, when to take a shot. He is capable of self-diagnoses under extreme pain or duress. But Voltron is also at his most vulnerable at this peak of performance."

"How?" Allura asks first. "If he is at his most powerful, how is he vulnerable? Is there any way for us to return Voltron to its previous state, after today's experiment?" She says the word experiment like it's a bug in her mouth, like she wants to brush off her tongue but can't.

"Trust," Coran says. "You can replace the cells, but you cannot make the laser fire fully unless those cells are working perfectly with each other. If one cell's energy is malignant, it can convert the other four. Your father forbade any whom knew from revealing the truth. Because that sacred trust between paladins was once broken. Voltron's mind was twisted."

Lance digs his nails, claws, neatly wrapped in his paladin's gloves, deeper into his palms. It doesn't hurt, but the tension is relieving.

"Twisted," Allura breathes. She's been through a lot today, Lance thinks again. She didn't know about Voltron having consciousness either. "This... it explains everything. Everything. Why my father... why his paladins were once disbanded."

"Allura?" Shiro asks. Allura shakes her head, massages her temple.

"When I was a girl," Allura doesn't look at any of them. "Voltron revolted. Completely cut off from the castle in a sector full of nebular interference, Voltron ceased escorting a valuable ally's ship in the middle of hostile space and instead turned upon it, attacking it. It is one of the only recorded times in memory that Voltron has not acted as a defender. Shortly after the attack, decimating the cargo and citizens onboard, Voltron emerged from the nebula."

"They called for the Black Lion to report, for my father to respond and explain himself," Allura strings her story together, looking like she's been betrayed. "The lions were silent. Voltron, all of its paladins, no response. My mother, my grandmother, they urged me to leave the room for my safety. I never heard the reason for Voltron's singular malfunction."

"I had to carry you out of the room," Coran remembers, even his mustache drooping. "You couldn't have stayed. We couldn't let you learn about the onboard crew of the escort vessel. Not then."

"I wasn't a child!" Allura bites at him, angry. "I'm not a child any longer! Soon after the incident, Zarkon's Galran extremist group rose in prominence. You should have told me! You should have- we need to know every risk! I thought I knew the dangers! And I've just been encouraging my paladins, my friends to muddle through a dark area through a psychic connection because the information was forbidden!"

Allura's seriously upset about this. She's practically on fire, a pot about to bubble over. Lance knows that her father is a soft spot, but this... this isn't about any of them, in particular. It's about Voltron.

"Allura?" Lance takes a chance. He reaches out to her, his hand barely brushing her arm. Allura jerks away, and the movement hurts like getting spat with hot oil.

"Coran," Allura steels herself. "Why is Voltron vulnerable. Who was he vulnerable to then, and who is he vulnerable to now? All of the paladins from those days were banished from Voltron and from their lions. There is only one whom I can possibly _consider-_ "

Coran looks older than he ever has before.

"The black paladin," He answers.

Everyone's head swivels towards Shiro, gobsmacked.

"Me?" Shiro is shocked, but it's hidden away. Business, then panic. "How? Is it because of this?"

He lifts the arm the Galra took from him.

"Not that black paladin."

Allura's eyebrows shoot up. Lance can fairly hear her heartbeat speed, if he strains.

He also hears the nearly inaudible " _Not Zarkon_ ," as it drops from her lips.

* * *

AN: Writer's block and real life are horrible, awful things that blot out all willingness to write. Don't let anybody tell you otherwise. But I finally got some time to write and wouldn't you know it, on the exact same day the second season came out. I'm only up to episode 10, but whoo, boy. That's some good stuff. Mmm, worldbuilding.

Rest assured, I will FINISH THIS FIC! Keeping in mind the stuff I've learned from season 2, the stuff I remember from season 1, while trying to keep the story straight and not confusing. Hopefully I'll upload quickly now that I've gotten back into a writing groove. Wish me luck!

As per usual, thank you to all who have fav'd, followed, and reviewed! Reviews let me know what's good and what needs tweaking under the hood.


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